A-nTi" T^T^Anv I S. H. A. M. PIl^AFORE,— An uproarously funny 
i\U\y iiJ^Avr I burlesque on H. M. S. Pinafore, by W. Henri Wilkins. 




IP 
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Cc 

It) 

IS 

m 
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K) 

i 



^ 
K 
F 

© 

^ 
^ 
^ 
^ 



AMES' SERIES OF 

STANDARD AND MINOR DRAMA. 
?SC.'^5 NO. 112. 

P4'-, . 2 5 

NEW MAGDALEN. 



WITH OAST OP CHARACTKRS, RNTBANCES, AND EXITS, RELATIVE POSITIONS 

OP THE PKRKORMERS ON THE STAGE, DESCRIPTION OP COS- 

TUMiCS, AND THE WHOLE OF THE STAGE BUSINESS, 

AS PERFORMED AT THE PRINCIPAL 

AilRKICAN AND ENGLISH 

THEATRES. 



CLYDE OHIO! 
A. D. AMES, PUBLISHER, 



Dl 
(31 

d 



'>^3Pi 



U 



Catalogues of ALL PUBLISHED PLAYS on receipt of »3 cent stamp. 




AMES' SERIES OF ACTESTG PLAYS. 

PBICS FIFTECN CKXTS EACH. — CATALOCUKS FBSB. 

NO, M. F. 

12 A Capital Match, fance, 1 act, by J. M. Morton 3 2 

30 A Day Well Spent, farce, 1 act, by John Oxenford 7 5 

2 A Desperate Game, comic drama, 1 act, by Morton 3 2 

75 Adrift, temp drama, 3 acts., by C. W. Babcock, M. D 6 4 

80 Alarmingly Suspicious, corardietta, 1 act, J. P. Simpson. ..4 3 

39 A Life's Revenge, drama, 3 nets, by W. E. Suter 7 5 

78 An Awful Criminal, farce, 1 act, by J. Palgrave Simp3on...3 3 

15 An Unhappy Pai.-, ethiop'n farce, 1 act, by G. W. II. Grifliu ..1 1 

65 An Unwelcome Relurn, com' intl'd, 1 act, by Geo. A. Muuson 3 1 

31 A Pet of the Publir,, farce, 1 act, by Edward Sterling 4 2 

21 A Romantic Attachment, comed'ttn, 1 aci, by Arthur Wood... 3 3 
43 Arrah DeBaugh, drama, 5 acts, by F. C. Kinnaman 7 5 

73 At Last, temperance drama, 3 acts, by G. C. Vautrot 7 1 

20 A Ticket of Leave, farce, 1 act, by Watts Phillips 3 2 

100 Aurora Floyd, drama, 2 act, by W. E. Suter ..7 3 

89 Beauty of Lyons, dom drama, 3 acts, by W. T. Moncrieir..ll 2 

8 Better Half, comedietta, 1 act, by T. J. Williams 5 2 

98 Black Statue, ethiopean farce, 1 act, by C. White 3 2 

113 Bill Detrick, melo drama, 3 acts, by A. Newton Field 6 4 

80 Black vs White, farce, 1 act, by Geo. S. Vautrot 4 2 

14 Brigands of Calabria, rom drama, 1 act, W. E. Suter 6 1 

22 Captain Smith, farce, 1 act, by E. Berrie 3 3 

84 Cheek will Win, farce, 1 act, by W. E. Suter 3 

49 Der two Surprises, dutch farce, 1 act, by M. A. D. Clifton ..I 1 

72 Deuce is in Him, farce, 1 act, by R. J. Raymond.....^'. 5 1 

19 Did I Dream it? farce, 1 act, by J. P. Wooler 4 3 

42 Domestic Felicity, farce, 1 act, by Ilattie L. Lambla. 1 1 

60 Driven to the Wall, play, 4 acts, by A. D. Ames 10 3 

27 Fetter Lane to Gravesend, ethiopean farce 2 

13 Give me rny Wife, farce, 1 act, by W. E. Suter 3 3 

117 Hal Hazard, military drama, 4 acts, by Fred G. Andrews. ..8 3 

50 Hamlet, tragedy, 5 acts, by Shakespeare 15 3 

24 Handy Andy, ethiopean farce, 1 act 2 

66 Hans, the Dutch J. P., dutch farce, 1 act, by F. L. Cutler...3 1 
116 Hash, farce, 1 act, by W. Henri Wilkins 4 2 

52 Henry Granden, drama, 3 acts, by Frank L. Bingham 11 8 

17 Hints on Elocution and how to become an Actor, 

103 How Sister P. got Child Baptized, etho farce, 1 act, ;...2 1 

76 How He Did It, comic drama, 1 act, by John Parry 3 2 

74 How to tame Mother-in-law, farce, 1 act, by II. J. Byron. ..4 2 

35 How Stout You're Getting, farce, 1 act, by J. M. Morton 5 2 

26 Hunter of the Alps, drama, 1 act, by Wm. Dimond 9 4 

47 In the Wrong Box, etho farce, 1 act', by M. A. D. Clifton 3 

95 In the Wrong Clothes, farce, 1 act, 5 3 

77 Joe's Visit, etho faree, 1 act, by A. Leavitt & If. Kagan 2 1 

11 John Smith, farce, 1 act, by W. Hrncock 5 3 

99 Jumbo Jum, farce, I act 4 3 

82 Killing Time, farce, 1 act, 1 1 

9 Lady Audley's Secret, -drama, 2 act, by W. E. Suter 6 4 

3 Lady of Lyons, drama, 5 acts, by Bulwer '2 5 

104 Lost, temperance drama, 3 acts, by F. L. Cutler 6 2 

106 Lodgings for Two, comic sketch, 1 act, by F. L. Cutler 3 

Catalogue continued on next page of cover. 



The New Magdalen. 

A DRAMA, 

m A PEOLOGUE 

AND THREE ACTS. 
From Wilkie Collins' story of the same name, 



BY 

A. NEJVroy FIELD, 

— AUTHOR OF — 

Twain^s Dodging; Those Avjful Boys; Other People^s Children; Bill 
Detrick; The Yankee Duelist; The Fop-Corn Man, 



With a description of Costumes, Characters, Relative Positions of 
Performers on the Stage, Entrances and Exits, and 

the whole of the Stao-e Business. 

f 

— H — 

Printed from the author's original manuscript. 

— M — 

Entered according to act of^ongress in the year 1SS2, hy 

A. D. AMES, 
in the ojlce of the Libariini of 0<:>/ijress, at Wushingto?i, 






* CLYDE, OHIO, $- 



A. D. AMES, PUBLISHER. 



THE NEW MAGDALEN; ^\ ^^^ 

CHARACTERS IX THE PROLOGUE. 
Place — France. Tiroe — 1870, during the Franco-Prussian War. 

Captain Arnault, of the French Army. 

Sargeon Surville, of the French Army. 

^tirgeon Wetzel, Chief of the German Ambuscade. 

Max, his Assistant. I 

."Sentinel 

Horace Holmcroft, a Newspaper Correspondent. 

Mercy Merrick, a Nursr. 

Grace Roseberry, an E '' ' "''--.,,„ ^ 



-o— 
-o — 



CHARACTERS IN THE DRAMA. 
Place— England. Time— 1870. 

Julian Gray, 

Horace Holmcrolt, 

Policeman, [iti plain clothes) of tke torce. 

Ji.mes, : a Footman. 

Mercy Merrick, 

Lady Janet Roy, 

Grace Rosebcrrv, , 



TN1P96-006638 



Costumes— Modern. 



Time of performance — Two hours. 



The New Magdalen. 

— X — 

PEOLOGUE. 

Z7t,e Coitage on the G&'^man, froitier — Bed l. c. hack; three camp chairs L. 
and R., candle burninj on table. R. 2 e. ,• canvas curtain hanging over 
h. V. IE. ; practical loindoio R., in flat; Captain Arnold discovered »cated 
looking over dispatches, at table. 

Enter Surgeon Surville through l. u. b. 

Capi. A. {sharp!]/) What is it? 

Surgeon S. A question to ask. Are we safe for the night? 
f^kipt. A. Why do you want to know ? 

Sur;/e.on S. (poiitmg to h. i:. z.) Th? poor follows are anxiou? about the 
next iew hours. They dread a surprise, and they a-k me if there is any 
reasonable hope of their having one night's rest. What di yoa think of 
the chances? Surely you ought to kuowl 

Capt. A. I know that we are in possession of the village for the present, 
and I know no more, {ho'dsup papers) Here are the papers of the enemy ; 
they give me no information that I can rely on. For all I can tell to the 
contrary, the main body of the Garmms, outnumbering us ten to one, may 
be nearer this cottage than the main bo ly of the French. Draw your owa 
conclusions — 1 have nothing more to say. 

Jt'-ses, puts on military cloak, lijhis cigar at candle and moves towards L. V. K. 
Surgeon S. Where are you g ing ? 
Capt. A. To visit the outposts. 

Surgeon S. Do you want this room for a little while? 
Ca27i. A. Not for some hours to come. Are you thinking of moving any 
of your wounded men in here ? 

Surgeon S. I was thinking of the English Iraiy. Tho kitchen is not 
quite the place for her. She would be more comfortable here; and the 
English nurse night keep her company. 

Capt. A. {smiling) They are two fine women — and Surgeon Surville ia 
a ladies' man. Let them come in if th<iy are rash enough to trust them- 
selves with you. Caution the women to limit the exercise of their curiosity 
to the inside of this rnnin. 
Surpeon S. What do you mean ? 

dpi. A. Did you ever know a woman who cou4d resist looking out of 
the window? DaVk as it is? sooner or bter these ladies of yours will feel 
t.emp'e<l to open that window. Toll them I don't want the light of the 
caudle to betray my headquarters to the German scouts. How U thd 
weather? Still raining? 
Surgeon S. Pouring. 
Capt. A. So much the better, the Germans won't sec us. 

{exit through door in flat, R. 
S'irceonS. {going to canvas door) Mis3 Merrick; have you time to taki 
a little rest? 
Mercy, {oulside) Plenty of time. 



* THE NEW MAGDALE!T. 

Surgeon S. Come in then, and bring the Er^lish lady with jovL. Here 
is a quiet room all to yourselves. {holds back canvas 

Enter Mercy and Grace. 

You have one thing to remember, ladies ; beware of opening the blind for 
fear of the light being seen through the window. For the rest we are free 
to make ourselves as comfortable here <is we c»n. C<^mpose yourself, dear 
madam, and rely on the protection of a Frenchman, who is devoted to you. 

{kisses Grace's hand 
Enter Sentry at the canvas door. 

Sentry. Surgeon, a bandage has slipped off" the man you tended last, 
and he is, 1 fear, bleeding to death. (Surgeon and Srntry exit, canvas door 

Mercy, (handing o, chair, L.) Will you take a chair, madam ? 

Grace. Don't call me madam. My name is Grace Roseberry. What is 
your name? 

Mercy. 3Iercy Merrick. 

Grace. How can I thank you for your sisterly kindness to a stranger 
like me ? 

Mercy. I have only done ray duty. Don't speak of it. 

Grace. I must speak of it. What a sitiiation you found me in when the 
French soldiers had driven the Germans aw^y! My traveling carriage 
stopped: the hrses seized; I ravself in a strauc;e country at night-fall, 
robbed of my money and my lugga:;e, and drenched to the skin by the 
pouring rain. I am indebted to you for shelter in this place —I am wear- 
ing your clothes — I should have died of the fright and the exposure but 
for you. What return can I make for such service as these? 

Mercy. May I ask you a. question ? 

Grace. A hundred questions, if you like. That candle gives a poor 
light. Can't we have more? 

Mercy. Candles and wood are scarce things here. We must be patient, 
even if w? are left in the dark. Tell me how came you to risk crossing the 
country in war time. 

Grace. I had urj,'ent reasons for returning to England. 

Mercy. Alone, without any one to protect you ? 

Grace. I have left my only protector — ray father — in the Engl'sh 
burial ground at Rome. My m>ther died years since in Canada. 
(Mercy starts) Do vou know Canada? 

Mercy. Well. 

Grace. Were you ever near Port Logan ? 

Merry. I once lived within a few miles of Port Logan. 

Grace. When? 

Mercy. Some time since. Your relatives in England must be very 
anxious about you. 

Grace. I have no relatives in England. You can hardly imagine a per- 
son more friendless than I am. We went away from Canada when my 
father's health failed, to try the climate of Italy, by the doctor's advice. 
His death left me not only friendless but poor. \takes leather case from 
pocket of coat) My prospects of life are ail contained in this little case. 
Here is the one treasure I contrived to conceal when 1 was robbed of my 
other things. 

Mercy. Have you got money in it? 

Grace. No ; only a (ew family papers, and a letter from my father in- 
troducing me to an elderly lady in England — a connection of bis by mar- 
riage, whom I have never seen. The lady has consented to receive me as 
her companion and reader. If I don't return to England soon som.e other 
person may get the place. 

Mercy. Have you no other resource? 

Grace. None. My education has been neglected — we led a wild life in 
the far west. I am quite unfit to go out as a governess. I am absolutely 
dependent on this stranger, who receives me for my father's sake, (puts 
case back in pocket) Mine is a sad story. Is it not? 



I 



THE NEW MAGDALEX. " * 

Mercy, There aro sadder stories than yours. There are thousands o! 
miseralSle women who would ask tor no greater blesaing than to chauga 
places with you 1 • o 

Grace. What can there possibly be to envy in such a lot as mine ? 

Mercy. Your unblemished character and your prospect of being estab- 
lish' d iionorablv in a re.sj^eetable house. 

Grace. How'strange ymj say that! Is there some romance in yourh:e . 
Whv have you sacrificed yourself to the terribl-! duties which I find y-ou 
)€r'ormiti? here? Ynu interest me indescribably. Give me your 
and. '^S^ercij shrhiks tack— Grace yersua.nveli/) Are we not friends? 

Mc^cy. We never can be friends! 

Grace. Why not ? {pm(.<:c) Should I be guessing right if I guessed you 
to be some g'eat lady in dis2ui?e? 

Mercy, (i-valcs sadly) I a great lady ? For heaven's sake let us talk of 
something else I 

Grace, {kol ding out her hand) Once more. Let us be friends, {lays 
hand gently on Mercy' a shoxilder, Mercy roughly shakes it off) Ah I Yt>u 
are cruel i 

Mercy. I am kind. 

Grace. Is it kind to keep me at a distance? I have told you my story. 

Mercy. Don't tempt me to speak out, you will regret it ! 

Grace. I have placed confidence in you. It ii ungenerous to lay me 
under an obli;;at;on, and then lo siiut. me out of your co-ifidence in return. 

2rlerty. You will have it. ( Grace hoxva) You shall have it. Sit down 
again. ( Grace niove^ her chair closer to h:r) Not so near me. 

Grace. Whv not ? 

Mercy, [sternly) Not so near. Wait till you have heard what I have to 
say. [candle goes out, at^ge d-irk) When your mother was alive were you 
ever out with her after nightlall in the streets nt a great city ? 

Grace. I don't understrmd vou. 

Mercy. I will put it in another way. You read the newspapers like the 
re=l of the world. Have you ever read i;f y^ur unhappy fellow creatures 
(the starving outcasts of the population) whom want h't.s driven into sin? 

Grace. I have read of such things often in newspapers and books. 

Mercy. Have you heard— when those starving and sinning fellow- 
creatnrcs happened to be women — of Refuges ediablished to protect and re- 
claim them ? 

Grace. These are extraordinary questions. What do you mean ? 

Mercy. Answer me ! Have you heard of the Refuges ? Have you heard 
of the womf^n ? 

Grace. Yes. 

Mercy. Move your chair a little further away from me. I was once one 
of those women. ' ( Grace springs to her feet, holding up her hands 

Grace. Ah ! 

Mercy. I have been in a Refuge. I have been in prison. Do you still 
insist on sitting close 10 me and taking my hand? [mnse) You see you 
were wrong when you called me cruel, and I was right when I told you I 
was kind. 

Grace, [stawmering) 1 -don't wish to offend you 

Merely. Stop ! You don't offend me, I am accustomed to stand in the 
pillory of my own past life. I sometimes ask myself if it was all my fault. 
I sonietimes wonder if society had no duties towards me when I was a 
child selling matches in the streets — when I was a hard-working girl f:nnt- 
ing at my needle for want of food. It is too late to dwell on these things 
now. So'ciety can subscribe to reclaim me, but society can't take me back. 
You see me here in a place of trust— patiently, humbly, doing all the good 
I can. It doesn't matter ! Here, or elsewhere, what I am can never alter 
what I was. For three vears past all that a sincerely penitent wonaan can 
io I have done. It do'esen't^n after ! (>nce let my past story be known, 
and the old shadow of it covers me; the kindest people shrink. 

Grace. I am sorry for you. 

Mercy. Everybody is sorry forme. Everybody is kind to rae ; but the 
lost place is not' to be regained. I can't get ba'ck ! I can't I (^pause) 



6 THE NEW MAGDALEN. 

Shall I tell you what my experience has been ? Will you hear the story of 
Magdalen in modern times? ( Grace shrinks) My story shall begin at the 
Refuge. The matron sent me out to service with the character that I had 
honestly earned — the character of a reclaimed woman. I justified the con- 
fidence placed in me. One d?iy my mistress sent for me — a kind mistress, 
if ever there was one. Mercy, I am sorry for you ; it has come out that I 
took you from the Refuge ; I shall lose every oervant in the house j you 
must go. I went back to the matron, she received me like a mother. We 
will try again, Mercy, don't be cast down. {Grace sits) My next place 
was in Conp.da, with an officer's wife. More kindness; and this time a 
pleasant peaceful life for me. I said to myself, is the lost place regained ? 
Have I got back ? My mistress died. New people came into our neighbor- 
hood. Thrre was a young lady among theui — my master began to think of 
another wife. The new people asked questions about me ; my master'** 
answers did not satisfy them. In a word, Ihey found me out. The ol<l 
story again ! Mercy, I am very sorry ; scandal is busy with you and me ; 
we are innocent, but there is no help (or it — we must part. 1 left th« 
place ; having gained one advantage during my stay in Canada, which I 
find of use to me here. 

Grace, Whar is it ? 

Mercy. Our nearest neighbors were French-Canadians. I learned to 
speak the Fiench language. 

Grace. Did you return to London ? 

Mercy. Where else could I go wi hout a character? I went bfck agaii 
to the matron. Sickness had broken out in the Eeluge. I made myse' 
useful as a nurse. One of the doctors was struck with me — fell in love with 
me, as the phrase is. He would have married me. The nurse, an hon- 
est won:an, was bound tn tell him the truth. He never appeared again. 
The old stoiy! I bog.nn to weary of saying to myself, I can't get back 1 
Despair got hold of me, the despair thnt hardens the heart. I might have 
ccmmiited suicide; I might even have drifted back into my old life — but 
for one man. 

Grace. Who was the man ? How did he befriend you ? 

Mercy. Befriend me? He doesen't even know that such a person as I 
am is in exisianre. 

Grace. You said just now 

Mercy. That he s.Tved me. He did save me ; you shall hear hnw. Ona 
Sujiday our regular clergyman fit the Refuge was not able to officiate. Hifl 
place was taken by a stranger, qniie a young man. The matron told u.i 
his name was Julian Gray. I sat in the back row of seats, under the 
shadow of the gallery, where I could fee him without his seeing me. His 
text was from the words, "Joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that re- 
penteth, more than over ninftv and 7iine just persons, Avhich need no re- 
pentance." What hrppier women might ha^-e thought of his sermon I can- 
not say ; there was noi a dry eye among us at the ReAige. As for me, he 
touched nr.' iicart as no man has touched it before or since. From that 
time I hi;ve accepted my hard lot, I have been a patient woman. I might 
have been something more, I might have been, a happy woman, if 1 could 
have prevailed on myself to speak to Julian Gray. 

Grace. What hinJered you from speaking to him? 

Mercy. I was afraid. 

G race. Afraid o f w h a t ? 

Mercy. Afraid of making my life still harder. 

Grace. I don't understand you. 

Meicy. {sighing) I was afraid I might interest him in my sorrows, and 
might set my heart on him in return. 

Grace, {astonished) You ? 

Mercy, {rising slowly to her feci) I astonish you? Ah, m 3' young lady, 
you don't know what rough usage a woman's heart can bear, and still beat 
truely ! Before I saw Julian Gray I only knew men as objects of horror. 
He to me is nothing but a remembrance now — the one welcome remem- 
brance of my life! You insisted on hearing ray Btcry — you have heard it. 



THE NEW MAGDALEN. 7 

Grace. I have not beard how you found employment here. 

Mercy. The nialron has irienda in France who avq coauected with the 

military hcspitals. It was not diilioult to get me the place. Society can 
find use for me here. My hand is as light, tiiy words of comforl arf^ as 

welcome among tho&e suffering wretches — {points h. \i. E.) — as if 1 was thfe 
most reputable woman bre.iLhing. 

Grace.. If there is anything 1 can do for you 

Mercy, {asuie) She n.iglit have taken my hand. (aloud) What can 




go back to my work. xau shall wear my 

clothes as short a lime as j)usbible. 

{goes to toindow avd vlovcs back llivd — a rifle shot outside 
Grace, {^frightened) What doos that tireing mean? 
Mercy. Signals from the outposts. 
Grace. Is there any danger ? 

Enter Surgeon Surville, l. it. e. 

Surgeon S. The German are advancing — their advance gunrd is in sight. 
( Grace funks'lnto chuir, R., covers face with hands 

Mercy, {to Surgeon) Do we defend the position ? 

Surgeon S. {i<liakiiig head) Impossible. We are outnumbered as usual 
ten U) one. {lung- roll on drums ouUide) There is the retreat sounded, the 
captain is not a man to think twice about what he does. We are left to 
take care ot ourselves. In five minutes we must be out of this place. 

{heavy volley of rijie shots, R. 

Grar.e. {grasping Surgcon\^ arm) Oh! sir, take nie with you, 1 have 
sufiered from the (jernjans already. Don't forsake me if they come back I 

Surgeon S. [puts G race's hand on hiii breast) Fear nothing, madam. A 
Frenchman's heart beats under your baud. A Frenchman's devotion pro- 
tects you. 

Mercy. What is to become of the sick and wounded ? 

Surgeon S. The strongest among them we can take away with us, others 
must be left here, {to Mercy) Fear nothing lor yourself, theie will be a 
place fur you in the baggage wagon. 

Grace. And for me too? {eagerly 

Surgeon S. Yes, madam. 

Mercy. Take her with you. My place .jp with the men which you leave 
behind. "" 

Grace, {amazed) Think what you risk if you stop here. 

Mercy. {j)ointing to red cross on her arm) Don't alarm yourself on my 
account. The red cross will protect me. {another roll of drums 

Suigeon S. {placing Grace in chair, r. ) Wait here till I return for you. 
Fear nothing, my charming friend. Say to yourself, Surville is the soul 
of honor I Surville is devoted to me. {goes to canva.i screen, kisses hand to 
her) Au revoirl • {exit 

Loud explosion out at back, Grace falls on knees by Mercy with a shriek — Merc^ 
quietly goes to window — Grace runs after her, 

Grace, {pleadingly) Take me away I We shall all be killed if we stay 
here! {looks at Merty, who does not move) Are you made of iron? Will 
nothing frighten you? 

Mercy. Why should I be afraid of loosing my life? I have nothing to 
live foi. {loud report 

Grace. Where can T hide myself? {kneels with hands clasped, C. 

Mercy. How can I tell where the next shell will fall? 

Shell comes through roof of cottage and explodes on stage — Grace falls over'-~ 
have coloring ready for wound on Grace's head — Mercy raises her head. 



8 THE NEW MAGDALEN. 

Enter Surville through screen, he helps Mercy lay Grace on bed — cloalc falls of 

Grace to floor. 

Surgeon S. Get a candle^ (Mercy gets one, l. u. e , lighted) Just heaven, 
my emotion overpowers ine. 

Mercy. Is the lady dangerously hurt? 

Surgeon S. You need not trouble yourself. H is all over — 1 can do noth- 
ing for her. 

Mercy, (solemnly) Dead ? 

Surgeon S. (boivs — shakes his fist, r.) Accursed Germans ! Ah, well it 
is the fortunes of war. Next time, nurse, it may be you or me. Come 
away. 

Mercy. I have made up my mind. I stay here. 

Surgeon S. Madam, you are siibliiue. (evit, h. v. E. 

Mercy, (g'^es to bed, looks at Grace) Not five minutes a^o I was longing 
to change places with you. I wish I could change places now! (picks up 
cloak from floor, sits a., by ruble) Some one must acquaint her triends iu 
England ot" her sad end. But who is to do it ? No one but me. (takes 
leather casi out of cloak oock't and ope'is it) Should I look at the secret 
papers ofthbdea<i? Yet still better I than that the unholy eyes of men 
and foreigners should examine iheni. (takes up packet 'led with pink ribbon — 
rendi) "My journal at Rome, devoted to the record of the last last days of 
my dearest father." (takes up another letter — reads 

"Lady Jonot R )y, M:irblethorpe H'^use. Kensington, London. 

Dkar Mad.vm : — Tills is the last effort of a dying man. The bearer of 
this, my daughter Grace, is now an orphrin, lovable and loving. She is 
not 83 well educated as I would wish, which I ascribe to the fact of the un- 
settled stnte we have been in sinca t5ie death of her mother, also on account 
of my losses, which caused me emigrate to Canada a very poor man. I 
owe it to you tiiat 1 am dying with my mind at rest about the future of 
my darling girl. Ti> your generous protection I commit the one treasure 
I have left to mo on earth, T irough your long lifetime you have nobly 
used your high rank and great fortune as a means of doing good. I be- 
lieve it will not be counted among the least of your virtues hereafter, that 
you comforted the last houri of an old soldier by opening your heart and 
home to his friendless child. Yours with many blessings, 

Col. Roseberry." 
What a chance the poor girl has lost. Rink, ease and hope awaited her in 
England, and there she lies, dead. Oh ! if I onlv had her chance, (pause) 
I may have her chance if I dared. I ynay be Grace Roseberry if I choose ! 
There is nothing to stop me from preseu'-ing myself to Lady Janet Roy, as 
her old friend's daughter. Where is the risk? Her friends are in Canada, 
her friends in England are dead. I have oniy to read her manuscript 
journal to be able to answer a!l their questions myself. Her clothes mark- 
ad with her naine are drying at the fi;-e, while she has on mine, marked 
"Mercy Merriclc." The way to escupo fi-om the unendurable misery of 
my past life Is at iny disposal. Nol no! 'Twould be an injury to the 
lead lady. An injury? How could it injure the dead?. No injury to the 
woman, no injury to her relatives, for they are dc-id. Aid if I serve Lady 
Janet fiithiully, ii' 1 till my new sphere honorably, and if I am all that I 
might be iu the 'leavenly peace and security of my new life, what in- 
jury am I doing Lady Janet Roy? I may and will give her cause to bless 
the day that I enter her house. (presses her hand to her head — pause — and 
r ising quickly) I' 1 1 do i t ! 

Puts on cloak, which covers her dress completely — she seats herself by the table, 
puts the papers in Iter pocket, as the steady tramp of soldiers is heard, l. u. e. 
— tlie command halt ?.s given outside. 

Enter Surgeon Wetzel, Sentry and Horace, through canvas door,i>. v. e. 

Surgeon W. A woman ill on the bed, another in attendance on her, and 
no one else in the room. No necessity of putting a guard here. 

(goes to bed, looks at Grace 



*rHE NEW MAGDALEIT. $ 

JTorace. May laslt if I am speaking to a French lady? 
' Merci/f I am an Euglisli woman. 

Surgeon W, Can I be of any use here ? (^points with thumh over to bed 

Mercy. You can be of no use, sir. The lady was liilied when your troopi 
ghelled this cottage. 
, Surgeon W. Has the body been examined by any medical Dian? 

Mercy. Yes. 

Surgeon W. By whom ? 

Mercy. The doctor attached to the French ambulance. 

Horace. Is the lady a country woman of ours? 

Merry. I believe so. We met iiere by accident. I know nothing of her.; 

Jtloi a e. Not even her name ? 

Mercy. Not even her name. 

Horace. Pardon me, but you are very young to be alone Inwar times, in 
ench a place as this. (groans, h. u. e. 

Mercj^. (aside) The poor wounded Frenchmen, (movefs toioarda l. u. e. 
. Surgeon W. {pushing her back) You have nothing to do with the wound- 
■ed Frenchmen, they are my prisoners, not yours. (crossly) They are our 
prisoners, and must be moved in owr ambulance. / am Ignatius Wetzel, 
•chief of the medical staff, and I tell you this, hold your tongue, (io sentry) 
Praw the curtain, and if the woman persists, put her back into this room, 
•with your own hands. (noes to bed. 

Horace. I will answer for it—the men will be well treated. (Mercy weep-i, 
^•— aside) Kind as well as beautiful, 

Mercy, (aside) Such treatment and cruelty snap asunder the slender 
cord, that binds me to my better self. 

^ Horace. Don't suppose I mean to alarm you, but the action will bo re- 
newed at daylight, and you ought to be in a iplace of safety. lam an oflicor 
in the English army— my name is Horace Holmcroft; I shall be deligiited 
to be of use to you, and 1 can if you will let me. May I ask if you are trav- 
elling? (Mercy bows) Are you on your way to England. 

Mercy. Yes. 

Horace. In that case I can pass you through the German lines and forward 
you at once on your journey. 

Mercy. You must possess extraordinary influence to do that. _ 

Horace. I possess the influence -thatr no one can resist — tlie influence of 
the press. lam serving here as war correspondent of one of our English 
newspapers ; if I nsk him, the commanding officer will grant you a pass. 
He is close to this cottage. What do you say? 

Mercy, (boxcing) I gratefully accept your offer, sir. 

Horace. Can I pass out through that door? 

Mercy, (boivs, exit Horace) Oh 1 what have I done ? What haye I 
<ione ? 

:' Surgeon W. I have found this in her pocket ; here is her name written 
on it. (shows handkerchief) Sue must be a country woman of yours. Her 
name is Mercy Merrick. 

Mercy. Hislip^ hare 8ai<,l it. Not ?;ii»e. 

tSur.,eon W. Mercy Merrick is an English name, is it not? 

Mercy, Yes. 

Entst Horace Holmcrojt, n. p. 

Horace. Here is the pass. Have you got pen and ink? I must fill up 
<the form. (Mercy points to table) I am obliged to asit you one ;or two plain 
questioiis. What is ^'our name, (pause) 

Surgeon W, (looking at handherchicj) Mercy Merrick is an English name 
.16 it not? 
. Horace. Mercy Merrick? Who is Mercy Merrick ? 

Surgeon W. (points to bed) I found her handkerchief. This lady, it 
ieems had no curiosity to look for the naine of her own countryman. 

Horace. Pardon me for pressing the questioD. What is yonr name ? 
^ M^rc^, {heaiiatin^ Grace Eoeeberry. ... 



310 .^SE.ND_W:MA0p.«LB5r. 

Horace. Missf ? ■ • =♦" 

Mcrcy. Yes. ■",'.- 

. ii w7*ace. (wK^M^f) "Retawiingto her friends in England." That will 
Jje eiiDHgh. \yhiere is your luggage ? 

^McT^i/. It ir, in the shed outside. I can do everything myself;, if the Sep* 
try wJTi iTit rfle pass through the kitchen. "' 

Horace. You can now pass Avhere you please. {cxilMerci;, h.v.'R.) Any 
thing remarkable in the manner of that poor creature's death ? ' " 

Surgeon TV. (crossly) Kothtug to put in the newspaper, {exit Horace, 
L. u. E.) Aha I the Prenchman says you are dead, iny dear — does he ? The 
^'^renchman is a quack; {calling) Max. [enter Mlx, l. u. k.] Bring ray 
Mac'i bag. [exit Max", \.. u. k.] [rubs hifi 7iand>i] No'.v I am quite happy, 
j^ty dear deadEnglishwoiuan, I wouhl not have missed this meeting with you 
iox the world. The Frenchman calls it death, I call it suspeuded auioia- 
lion-from pressure on the brain. ~ , .'!'J ^ ' ^".,, 

Enter Max, l. u. e., xolth bag. 

Surgeon W. [taka out instrinnent'i] Do you remember the battle of Sol- 
fei-ino — and the Austrian soldier I operated on, for a wound on the head^? 

■ Max. Y"P3, I remember, I held the candle. ■-. 

Surgeon W. I am not satisfied with the result of. that operation atSolferirx?, 
I have wanted to try again ever since. I saved the man's Hie, but I failed 
to give him back his reason along with it. Now look here at this dear 
young lady on tlie bed. She gives me just what I wanted ; here is the caa© 
ttt Solferiiio once more. You shall hold the candle again, my good boy ; I 
t.m going to try if I caa save the life and the reason too this time. • _^ 

' Voice outside. Pass the English lady 1 [operation proceedi, pause, void 
soiuiding at ^ome distance outside] Pass the English lady ! 

[operations still going on 

■ Surgeon W, [holds hand over her mouth lightly'] Aha ! good girl, you live— 
you breathe, [voice in the distance outsiie] Pass the English lady I ^ 

CURTAIN. 



DRAMA. : 

ACT I. 

SCENE 1 — Parlor elegantly furnished, Lxdy Janet lioy, Horace Holmcrofl 
discovered. Horace lejt of table, which is l. d. Lady Janet on right of tabU 
eating lunch. 

Lady Janet. Have some French pie, Horace ? 

Horace. No, thank yon. 

Lady J. Some more chicken, then. 

Horace. No more chicken. . , 

Lady J. Will nothing tempt you? 

Horace. I'll have some more wine If you'll allow me; 

Lady J. The air of Kensington doesn't seem to suit you. The longer yoik 
have been my guest, the ofteuer you fill your glass and empty your cigar- 
case. Those are bad signs in a young man. When you first came here you 
arrived invalided by a wound. In your place, I shouid not have exposed^ 
myself to beshot, with no other object in view than describing a battle in a' 
'newspaper. Are you ill? Does your wound still plague you? ■ 

^ Horace. Not in the least. ^1 

Lady J. Are you out of spirits? . ( 

Horace. Awfully I [Ujxns elbow on table ^ fssU head in ^idshand. 



We n e w magbalek: h 

Ladj/ J. My table is not the club table. Hold up 5t»ur head.' Don't look 
at your fork — look at me. 1 allow nobody to be out of spirits in my house. 
If our quiet life here doesn't suit you, sa'y so plainly, and find something 
ielse to do. You needn't smile. I don't want to see your teeth — I want an 
answer. 

• Horace. I can return to my post as war correspondent. 

• Ladr/ J. Don't speak of newspapers and war I I detest the newspapers ! 
I won't allow the newspapers to enter this house. 1 lay the whole blame of 
blood=!hcd between Frfince and Germany at their door. 

• Horace. Are the new3paj)er3 responsible for the war? 

• L'di/ J, Entirely responsible. 

", Hcruce. Yt)ur views have th€ merit of perfect novelty ma'am, would 
you object to see them in the papers? 

Lady J. Don't I live ih the latter part o!'the nineteenth century ? In the 
newt^papers, did you say? In large type, Horace if you love me, : 

Horace. You blame rne for being out of spirits, and you seem to think it 
is because I am tire^l of my pleasant life at Marblothorpe House. I a,n\ not 
in the least tired, Lady Janet j the truth is I am not satisfied with Grace 
Roseberry. 
'/;,flo?;/J'. What hag Grace done? 

Horace. She persists in prolongi]ig our engagement. Nothing will per- 
suade her to fix the day for our marriage. 

Lady J. Can you account for Grace's conduct? 

Horace. I hardly like to own it, but I am afraid she has some motive 
for defering our marriage which she can not confide either to you or to me. 

L'tdy J. What maizes you think that? 
i Horace. 1 have once or twice caught her in tears. Every now and then 
fihe suddenly changes color and becomes silent and depressed. Just now, 
when she left the table, she looked at me in the strangest way — almost as 
if she was sorry for me. What do these things mean ? 

Lady J. You foolish boy I the meaning is plain enough. Grace has been 
out of health for some time past. Tbe doctor recommends change of air.. I 
sliall take her away with me. 

Horace. It would be more to the purpose, if I took her away with me. 
She might consent, if you would use your influence. Is it asking too much 
to ask you to persuade her? My mother and my sisters have written to her 
end have produced no effect. Do me the greatest of all kindnesses — epeak. 
to her to-day. You have always been kind tome. 

Lady J. Must I really speak to Grace? 
^ Horace, (rises) Yes, do please. 

Lridy J. Go to the smoking room, away with you and cultivate the favor- 
ite vice of the nineteenth century. Go and smoke. Go and smoke! 

(exit Horace, R. h 
—1 don't understand the young women of the present generation. In 
my time when we were fond of a man we were ready to marrj'- him at a mo- 
ments notice, and in this age of progress they ought to be ready still, {ijo- 
ing to door, l. h. calls) Grace 1 

Enter Mercy, l. u. e. 

Mercy. Did your ladyship call ? 

Lady J". Yes, 1 want to speak to you. Ccme and eit down by me. 
(Mercy and Lady J. sits on sofa, R. c. at bacic) You look very pale this 
morning, my child. 

; Mercy. 1 am not well ; the slightest noise startles me. I feel tired, if I 
oniy walk ac:ros8 the room. 

Lady J. We must try what a change will do for you. Which shall it b« 
the continent or seaside ? : 
: Mercy. Your ladyship is too kind to me. 
. Lady J. {laughing) It is im2)0£feible to be too kind to yottl 
. Mercy, (clasps hands) Oh I say that again. 

Lad^ J.^ (surprised). Say it again V. 



fl ^ THE NEW MAGDALEir>{ 

Merc^. Yes! I can't hear you say too often that yoo hare learned" lo 
like me. Is it really a pleasure to you to have me in the house ? Have I 
always behaved well since I have been with you? 

Lady J. (aynused) Have you behaved well ? {lays hand gently on Mercy's 
heal) My dear, you talk as if you were a child. It is hardly too much to 
say, Grace, that I bless the day when you lirst came to me. I do believe £ 
could hardly be fonder of you, if you were my own daughter. {Mercy 
trembles) What is the matter with you ? 

Merci/. I am only very grateful to your ladyship, that is all. 

Lady J. "We have got on so well together, that it will not be easy for eith* 
er of us to feel reconciled to a change in our lives. At my age, it will fall 
hardest on me. What shall I do, Grace, when the day comes for parting 
with my adopted daughter? 

Mercy, {apfealivgiy) Why should I leave you ? 

Lady J. Surely you know. r 

/ Mercy. Indeed I do not. Tell me why. 

Lady J. Ask Horace to tell you. {Mercy drops head) Is there anything 
wrong between Horace and you ? 

Mercy. No. 

Lady J. You know your own heart my dear j you have surely not en- 
couraged Horace without loving him? 

Mercy. Oh, no I . ■ 

Jjady J. And yet, 

Mercy. Dear Lady Janet, I am in no hurry to be married. There will 
be plenty of linto in'tiie future to talk of that. You bad something yo4 
wished to say to me. WhaB ts it? 

Lady J. {aside) What arc the young women of the present time made of? 

Enter James, c. d. 

Lady J. {sharply) What do you want? I did not ring for you. 

James. A letter, my laily. The messenger waits for an answer. 

{exit 0. D. . 

Lady J. {tunis h.) Excuse me, my dear, {aside) Odd that he should 
have come back already ! {reals) "Dear Aunt:— I am back again in Lon- 
don belore my lime. My Iriend the rector has shortened hi.* holyday and 
has resumed his duties in the country. I am afraid you will blame mo 
when you hoar of the reasons which have hastened bis return. The sooner 
I make my confession, the easier I shall feel. Besides, 1 have a special ob- 
ject in v.ishing to see you as soon as possible. May I follow my letter to 
Mablethorpe House? And mav I present a lady to you — a perfect stranger 
—in whom I am interested? Pray say yes, by the bearer, and oblige your 
favorite nephew. Julian Gkay," Wbo can the Jady be? Grace, I have 
a note to write to my nephew ; I shall be back directly. 

Mercy. Your nephew? Your ladysliip never told me you had a nephew. 

Lady J. {laughia<j) I must have had it on the tip of my tongue to tell 
vou, over and over again, but we have had so many things to talk about—, 
and, to own the truth, my nephew is not one of my favorite subjects of con 
versation. I don't mean that I dislike him j I detest his principles, m 
dear, that's all. However, you shall form your own opinion of him; he i., , 
comino- to see me to-day. Wait here till I return j I have something more ' 
to say about Horace. {exit l. h. ' 

Mcrcj) ■ {clnspincj her hau'Js) If I could only confess the truth. If I could 
innocently enjoy the harmless life at jNlablethorpe House— what a grateful 
happy woman I might be. If I confessed, would my good conduct not plead 
my excuse? Ah 1 no, no! The place I have honestly won in Lady Jan* 
et's esteem has been obtiiined by a trick- — nothing can alter, nothing can ex- 
cuse that, {ivipes eyes with hnndkerchief) Can 1 let the man, who loves me 

the man, whom J love drift blindfold into marriage with such a woman 

as I have been? No, it is my duty to warn him. How? Could she break 
his heart, could she lay his life waste by speaking the cruel words which 
might part them forever? I can't tell him I .{pume) 1 won't teU him.^ 



THE KEW MAGDALENv %t 

The disgrace of it would kill me I I am no worse than another woman. 
Atiother woman might have married him for his money, (claavsher hands) 
Oh 1 that I had died before I entered this house I Oh 1 that I couJd die and 
have done with it at this momeati [itans head on her hands ai tabis 

Enter Horace, R. H. 

Horace, [pauses, puis finger to lips] Grace! 

Mercy, [sprinqs up startled] I wish you wouldn't startle me. Any sud* 
den alarm sots my heart beating as if it would choke me, 

Horace. Pardon me, my dear Grace, [pause — Mercy turns awayl Has 
Lady Janet>sai<i anything to you 

Mercy, [angrily] You have tried to make her hurry me into marrying 
you. I see it in y(rur face. 

Horace, {consoling her) Don't be angry. Is it so very Inexcusable to 
flsk Lady Janet to interceed for me ? I have tried to persuade you in vain. 
My mother and sisters have pleaded for me, and you turn a deaf ear — 

Mercy, [passionately] I am tired of hearing of your mother and your 
sisters. You talk of nothing else. 

Horace, {gravcht) It would be well, Grace, if you followed the example 
set you by miy mother and sisters. They are not in the habit of speaking 
cruelly to those who love them. 

{sits icith back to her at table R. c, Mercy stands l. 

Mercy, {aside) It siokens me to hear of the virtues of womea who havo 
never been tempted. Has his mother known starvation? Have his sisters 
been left lorsal<en in the street? {looks around at him) Yet he does not 
know, I have been too harsh, [appi-oaches him gentli/] Forgive me, Hor- 
ace, I am suffering this morning, I am not rnyseif, I did not mean what I 
said. Pray, forgive me. [kisses his forhea I] Am I forgiven? 

Horace. Oh, my darling, if you only knew how I loved youl 
! Mercy, [fondling his hair] I do know it. 

Enter, Lady Janet, L. 

Lady J. [stops — aslh] I am not wanted, evidently. ^ (e.ri7,r., 

Horace, [persuasively] Now, dearest Grace, why do you wish our mar- 
riage deferred ? I wish you would consent to an immediate marriage. 

Mercy. Do not press me to-day, I am not well. 
; Horace, [rising] May 1 speak about it to-morrow ? 

Mercy. Yes, to-morrow. What a time Lady Janet is away. 
• Horace. "What made her leave you? 

Mercy. She went into the library to write a note to her nephew. B/ 
the bye, who is her nephew? 

Horace. Lady Jo net's nephew is a celebrated man. His name is Juliaa 
Gray. [Mercy starts, cla.^ps her lands and looks at him bexoildered 

Horace, [astonished] Dearest Grace, what have I said to alarm you ? 

Mercy, [aside] Pie is coming — the man who has reached my inmost 
heart — who lias influenced my whole liie. [aloud] Don't notice me, I 
have been ill all the morning. I shall be better directly. I am afraid I 
startled you ? 

Horace. My dear Grace, it almost looked as if you were terrified at the 
sound of Julian's name. He is a public celebrity, I know ; and I have seen 
ladies start and stare at him when he entered a room. But you looked 
perfectly panic-stricken. 

Mercy':: [laughing] Absurd I As if Mr, Julian Gray had anything to do 
with my looks I I am better now, see for yourself. Of course I have heard 
of him. Do you kiK)w he is expected here to-day ? Don't stand there be- 
hind me — it's so hard to talk to you. Come aiid sit down, [puts her arrA 
ihrongk his) Tell me about this famous man of yours. What is he like? 

Horace. Prepare yourself to meet the most unclerical of clergymen. 
Julian is a lost sheep among the parsons, and a thorn in the side of hia 
bishop. Is quite resigned never to rise to the high places in his profession. 
Says it's rising high enough for him lo be the Archdeacon of the afflicted 



i 5# the" NE W." M AG D AL^EN7 

the Dean of the hungry, and the Bishop of the poor. With all his o^dities,^ 
afe good a feilow as ever lived. Immensely popular with the women. 
They all go to him for advice. I wiah you would go too. 

Jtfercy^ "What do yoii' mean 7 

Horace. Julian is famous. -for his powers of persuasion. If he spoke to 
you, Grace, he would prevail on you to lix the day. Suppose I ask Julian 
to plead for me? 

-Jfercy. , [as:ide} Hewilldo it if I do not stop him. (aloud) Don't talk 
nonsense 1 What were we saying just now — before we began to speak of 
Mr.y ulian Gray ? = 
Horace. We were wondering what had become of Lady Janet. 
Mercy. ■ Ko, no! ■\^loving:ii/'] It was something before that. 
Horace, {pats arm around her} 1 was saying that I loved you. 
. Mercy. Only that ! Are you so very much in earnest about — about — 
■ Horace. [qaickly'\ Our marriage? Yes. 

Mercy, [bushfuily] When would you like it to be? 
.Horace. I fix this day fortnight. Say yes, don't look so serious. Only 
• eay yes 1 
; Mercy, {with an cfort] Yes ! Leave me, please leave me by myself. 
.Horace, ifou will see me again when you are more composed — you won'4. 
go av/ay ? 

Mercy. 1 will wait here, [exit Horace, b.] Am I awake, or dreaming? 
Ah, how terrible is a guilty conscience 1 He is coming, and 1 fear him. 
Yes, I feel it, I know it, my guilty conscience owns it's master in Mr. Ju-.- 
liau Gray. [leans her head on so/a pillow 

Enter, Julian Gray, c. 

Mercy, [starts up — goes R.] It is he I 

Julian Gray. -Pray don't run away 1 I am nothing very formidable, on- 
ly Lady Janei's nephew, Julian Gray. [Mercy sinks into chair r., Julian c] 
Pray don't mind me. [aside] No common sorrow has set its mark on that 
woman's face, no common heart beats in that woman's breast. Who can 
Bhe be ? '; - " " \ 

c Mercy, [slowly] Lady Janet is in the library, shall I tell her you are 
hero ? . . . . 

Julian'. Don't disturb Lady Janet, and don't disturb yourself, [seats 
himself at iubk\ My aunt's claret shall represent my aunt at present. 
[pours out, claret] I came here by way of Kensington Gardens. For some 
lime past I have been living in a tiat, agricultural district. You can't 
think how pleasant I found the picture presented by the Gardens, as a con- 
trast. Everything w<is so exhilarating aTter what 1 have been used to, that 
1 actifally c>:!ught fnyself v/histling es I walked through the brilliant scene. 
Who do you ibink 1 met when I was in lull song ? .;, 

\ Mercy. Huw should I know I 
r Julian. ^Vhom did I meet, but my bishop. If I had been whistling a 
eacred melody, his lordship might perhaps have excused my vulgarity out; 
pt consideration for my music. Unfortunately, the composition I was exe- 
ouling at the moment was by Verdi — ''La Donna o Mobile" — familiar, no,, 
doubt, to his lordship on the street organs. He recognized the tune, poor 
inan,.aaKl wben I took off my hat to him he looked the other way. Strange, 
that in a wurld that is bursting with sin and soirow, to treat such a trifle 
eeriously as a cheerful clergyman whistling a tune. I have never been 
stble to 'see why we should be* forbidden, in any harmless thing, to do as 
other iieo])le do. 1 venture to say that one of the worst obstacles in the.. 
way of doing good among our f'ellosv-creatures is raised by the mere as- : 
gumption of the clerical manner and clerical voice. For my part, I set up; 
no claim to be more sacred and more reverend than any other christian., 
rnan who does what good he can. 1 have been spending my time lately— 
E6 I told you in an agricultural district. My business there was to perforin: 
the duty. for the rector of the plac(j, who wanted a holiday. How do you; 
Uiiuk the-ex])eriuiei:t ended?. Th^ Squire of the parish calls me a Comma*-. 



b;«i ; t'be, farmers deaouuce me as an incendiary y,xny friend ttr.e rector, has 
"(yeen f^eealiedtn a tiurry, and I have now the honorof speaking U^ you hx 
4he'eharafcter of^ banished man who has made a reopectabla neighborhooci 
loo hot to hold him. [takes chair 7iear ^lercij] ^ -You shall hear my confes- 
sion. I had no idea,wh;it the life of a farm laborer, really was, in some 
f»arl3 of Eifgfan'd) utitill undertook the rcctor'adutiesV "Never before had 
I seen such wetchedpess as I saw in the cottagies. Never before had I seen 
Bijch noble patiehcft under suffering as I found among the people.- I asked, 
ftiyself how they could endure and live — live year after year, on the brink 
of starvation ; live to see their children growing up around ihem, to work 
and want in-their turn.. Was God's beautiful earth made to hold such mis-, 
ery as this? I can hardly bear to think of.it, I can hardly speak of it even 
now, \vith dry eyes ! . . ., [bows Ms head 

■Merely, [aside] Now he appeals xia he did at the; Refuge. How good 
^nd noble I • . • ^ - ' ' 

Julian. I went among the holders of the land, to say a word for the til- 
lers of ihe-land.^ <*The3e patient people don^t-want much," I ssid, "in tha 
name of Christ, give them enough to live on!" Starvation wagesAvere th^j* 
right wages, I was told. And v/hy? Because the. laborer was ob!i.ged'to 
accept them. I determined, so far as one man could doit, that "the laborer 
should -noi be ohiiged to accept them. I collected my owu resources — I 
wrote to my friends — and I removed some of the poor fellows to, parts of 
England where they were better paid. I mean to go on. I am known in 
London ; I can raise subscriptions. The vile laws of Supply and Demaiid 
shall find labor scarce in that distritvt; and pitiless Political Economy shall 
spend a few shillings on the poor, as certainly as I am that Radical, Com- 
naun'st, and Incen<liary — Julian Gray. {iz;a Iks. to and fro excitedly ■ 

Mercy, {apj^-oaches and offers purse) Pray let me offer my little tribute 
—such as it is. 

Julian, (smiling) No, no ! though I am a parson, I don't carry the beg- 
ging-box everywhere.- ^ 

Mercy. Please do take it. 

Julian. Don't tempt me. The frailest of all human creatures is a clergy- i 
irtan tempted by a subscription. ,; 

Mercy. You will confer a great favor upon me if you will take this foif 
tbe cause. _ . ' 

Julian. Well if I must take it— I must. Thank you, what name shall I 
put down on my list? ' 

^ M&rcy. -(co/i/'w6e(i) No name. My subscription is anonymous. 

Enter, Lady Janet and KDrace, r. 

Ladxj J. Julian I ' (ewSrace :i 

'- Julian. Your ladyship is looking charmingly. 

(shakes hands loith Horace, vjho goes C. wifh M.rcy 
, Julian. I came in through the conservatory, and found that young ladf 
here. Who is she? • . - 

. Lrtdy J. Are you much interested in her? ; 

■- Julian. Indescribably I . ^ ■' 

Lady J. Grace! (Grace comes down) My dear, let jne present my 
nephew to you. Julian, this is Miss Grace 'Roseberry. (^Julian starts). 
What is it? - 

^Julian. Nothing, {turns to Lady Janet 

- Mercy., (a^idz) Why did he start? {goes up to Horace, c. .. 

Lady J. Your room is ready for you, of course you will stay here. 
■^ Julian. ■ (fibsenily) Certninly if you wish it. (aside) Grace Roseberry 2 ; 

Lof/y J. What are you staring at my adopted danghter for? 

Julian. Your «dopted daughter ? 
!. Lady J. Certainly. As Col. Roseberry's daughter she la connected with 
me by marriage already. Did you think I had picked up a foundling? 
i Julian. I had forgotten the Colt^nei. Of course the young lady ia relat- 
Jed to us, aa aa you say. - .. . 



5« fHE NEW MAGDALEK. 

Lady J. Cliarmed I ara sure to satisfy 3'ou that Grace is no impostef. 
But about thnt letter of yours, there is one line that puzzles me. "VVho if 
that mysterious lady? 
Jultan. {in a loxo tone) I can't tell you now. 

Lady J. Why not ? {Julian looks toward Grace) What has she to do 
with it ? 

Julian. It is impossible to tell you while Miss Roseberry is in the room, 

Jja'ly J. (aside) What can he menn ? I hate all mysteries, and as for 

eocrets, I consider them one of the forms of ill-breeding, {aloud) If you 

must liflve your mystery, I can send Grace to represent rae at church 

meeting. 

Julian. Very well, that will do. 

Lady J. My dear Grace, you look flushed and feverish, it will do you 
pood to take a drive in the fresh air. I wish you to represent me at th* 
church meeting to-day. 

Mercy. Does your ladyship mean the committee meeting of the Samari- 
tan Convalescent Home ? 
Lady J. Yei^l 

Mercy. I cannot surely presume to vote in your place. 
Lady J. You can vote, my dear child, just as well as I can. Away with 
you — and don't keep the committee waiting. 

Horace {going c, with Mercy) How long shall you be away ? f 

Mercy. 1 shall be back in an hour. 

Horace. Very well. Come here when yon return, I will be waiting for 
you. {exit Mercy, c. 

Lady J. Well, Grace is out of the room, why don't you begin? I» 
Horace in the way ? 

' Julian. Not in the least. I am only a little uneas}', that is all — about 
eeiiding that charming creature away. 

Horace. When you say that charming creature I suppose you meaa 
Miss Rosebeny ? 

Julian. Certainly. Why not? 

Lady J. Gently, Julian. Grace has only been introduced to you hither- 
to in the character of my adopted daughter 

Horace. And it seems to be high time that I should present her next in 
the character of my engaged wife! 
'Julian, {surprised) Your wife? 

Horace. Yes, my wife! We are to be married in a fortnight 1 May I 
ask if you disapprove 0/ the marriage? 
Lady J. Nonsense, Horace ; Julian congratulates you, of course. 
Julian, {coldly) Oh, yes. I congratulate you, of course 1 
Lady J. Now we understand one another, let us speak of a lady who 
has dropped out of the conver«raiion for the last minute or two, the myster- 
ious lady of your letter. Is she the future Mrs. Julian Gray ? ^ 
Julian. She is a perfect stranger to me ! 

Lady J* A perfect stranger! You M'rote me word you were interested 
in her. 

Julian. I am interested in her. And, what is more, you are interested 
in her too. 

Lady J. Have I not warned 3'ou, Julian, that I hate mysteries? Will 
yau, or will you not, explain yourself? 

Horace, -{rising) Perhaps 1 am in the way. 

Julian. I have already told Lady Janet that yoa are not in the way. I 
now tell you — as Miss Eoseberry's future husband — that you too have an 
interest in what I have to say. {Horace situ) You have often heard me 
spe«k of my old friend and school- fellow, John Cressingham ? 
Lady J. Yes. The Er.glish consul at Mannheim ?" 
Julian. The same. Wlicn I returned from the country I found a long 
letter from him. I have brought it with me, and I propose to read certain, 
passages from it, which tell a strange Btor^' more plaiulj^ than I can tell 11 
in my own words, ■ . -. J^ 

Lady J. Will it be very long ? 



THE NEW MAGDALEN. 17 

' Horace. You are sure I am interested in it. The consul at Mannheim 
is a total stranger to me. 

Julian, (gravely) I'll answer for it. Neither my aunt's patience nor 
yours will be thrown away if you will listen attentively to what I am 
tbou t to read , {reads 

*My memory is a bad one for dates. But full three months must havo 
passed Binc6 iuformation was sent to me of an English patient, received at 
the hospital here, whose case I, as English consul, might feel an interest in 
investigating. I went the same day to the hospital, and was taken to the 
bedside. The patient was a woman. When I first saw her she looked, to 
my uninstruoted eye, like a dead woman. I noticed that her head had a 
bandage over it, and 1 asked what was the nature of the injury that she 
had received. The answer informed me that she had been pjreseut at a 
skirmish or night attock between the Germans and the French, and that 
the injury to her head had been inflicted by a fragment of a German shell.' 

Horace. Good heavens 1 Can this be the woman I saw laid out for dead 
in the French cottage? 

Julian. It is impossible for me to say. Listen to the rest of i^ it may 
nnswer your question. (read ft 

*The wounded woman had been reported dead, and had been left by the 
French iji their retreat, at the time the German forces took possession of 
the enemy's position. She was found on a bed in a cottage by the director 
of the German ambulance — ' 

Horace. Ignatius AVetzel ? 
• Julian. Ignatius Wetzel I 

Horace. It is the same ! You remember my tellin)? you how I first met 
with Grace? And you have heard more about it since, do doubt, iVo!»i 
Grace hereself ?' 

LaJy J. She has a horror of referring to that part of her journey home. 
She mentioned her having been stopped on the frontier, and her findintj 
herself accidently in the company ol another Englishwoman, a stranger to 
her. I was shocked to hear that she had seen th« woman killed by a Ger- 
man shell almost at her side. I understand it all now. Grace, I supposie, 
mentioned my name to her fellow-traveller. The woman is, no douoi, iji 
want of assistance, and I will help her; but she must not come hem until I 
have prepared Grace for seeing h«r again — a living woman. For the pres- 
ent there is no reason why they should meet. 

Julian, I am not so sure about that. 

Lady J, What do you mean ? Is the mystery not at an end yet? 

Julian. The mystery has not even begun yet. Let my friend the consul 
proceed. {reo.(U 

'After a careful examination of the supposed corpse, the German surg<M)ri 
arrived at the conclusion that a case of suspended animation had been 
mistaken for a case of death, and he decided on putting his opinion to the 
test. He operated on the patient with complete success. After perforin - 
ing the operation he kept her for some days under his own care, and then 
transferred her to the hospital of Mannheim. He was obliged to return to 
his duties as army surgeon, and left his patient in the condition in Avhich I 
saw her, insensible on the bed. Neither he nor the hospital authorities 
knew any tbing whatever about the woman. No papers were ibund on 
her. AH the doctors could do was to show me her linen marked with her 
name. I left the hospital after taking down the name in my pocket-book. 
It was ''Mercy Merrick.' " 

Lady J. Let me take down that name. I never heard it before, and I 
might otherwise forget it. Go on, Julian. 

Julian, (reads) 'Some weeks passed without my receiving any com- 
munication from the doctors. On calling to make inquiries I'was inform- 
ed that fever had set in, and that the poor creature's condition, now alter- 
nated between exhaustion and delirium. In her delirious moments the 
name of your aunt, Lady Janet Roy, frequently escaped her. I thought 
once or twice of writing to you, and of begging you to apeak to Lady Janet. 
But as the doctors informed me that the chaccee of life or death wero 



18^ THE NEW MAGDALEN".' 

almost equally balanced, I decided to wait until time should determine 
whether it was necessary to trouble you or not.' 

Lady J. You know best, Julian. But I own I don't quite see in whit 
way 1 am interested in this partot the story. 

Horace. Just what I was going to say. What have we to do with it? 

Julian. Let mo read my third extract, and you will see. {reads 

*At last I received a message from the hospital, informing meihat Mercy 
Merrick was out of danger, and that she was capable of answering any 
questions which I might think it desirable to put to her. On reachiu^ 
there I was requested to pay my first visit to the head physician in his 
private room. "I think it right," said this gentleman, "to warn you to be 
very careful how you speak to her, and not irritate her by showing any 
surprise or expressing any doubts if she talks to you in an extravagant 
manner. "We differ in opinion about her here. Some of us doubt whetlier 
the recovery ot her mind has accompanied the recovery of her bodily 
powers. Without pronouncing her to be mad, we are nevertheless of tlse 
opinion that she is suffering under a species of insane delusion. Bear in 
mind the caution which I have given you — and now go and jud;e for your- 
self." I obeyed. The sufferer looked sadly weak and worn ; but seemed to 
be in full possession of herself. After introducing myself, I assured her 
that I should be glad if I could be of any assistance to her. In saying 
these words I hapj)ened to address her by the name I had seen marked ou 
her clothes. The instant the words "Miss Merrick" passed my lips a wild,, 
vindietive expression appeared in her eyes. She exclaimed, angrily, 
"Don't call mc by that hateful name ! It's not my name. All the people 
here persecute me by calling me Merry Merrick. And when I am angry 
"with them ihey show me the clothes." Remembering what the physician 
had said to me, I made the necessary excuses, and succeeded in softening 
her. I inquired what her plans were, and assured her that she might 
command my services if she required them. "Why do you wont to know 
what my plans are ?" she asked, suspiciously. I reminded her that I held 
the position of English eonsul,and that my object was to be of assistance to 
her. "You can be of the greatest assistance to me," she said. "Find 
Mercy Merrick !" I asked her who Mercy Merrick was. "A vile womai 
by her own confession," was the reply. How am I to find her ?" I inquir- 
ed next. "Look for a woman in a black dresd, with the Red Geneva Cross 
on her shouhier ; she is a nurse in the French ambulance." Whai. has she 
done ? "I have lost my papers; and my clothes ; Mercy Merrick has tak- 
en them." How do you know that Mercy Merrick has taken them? 
♦'Nobody else could have taken thern — that's how I know it. Do you be- 
lieve me or not ?" I assured her that I would at once send to make in- 
quiries after Mercy Merrick. She turned around contented on the pillow. 
♦iThere's a good man !" she said. "Come back and tell me when you have 
caught her. " It is needless to say that I doubted the existence of tho 
absent person described as a nurse. However, it was possible to make in- 
quiries by applying to the surgeon, Ignatius Wetzel, whose whereabouts 
was known to his friends in Mannheim. I wrote to him, and received his 
answer in due time. After the night attack of the Germans had made 
them masters of the French position, he had entered the cottage occupied 
by the French ambulance. He had found the wounded Frenchmen left 
behind, but had seen no such person in attendance on them as the nurse in 
the black dress with the red cross on her shoulder. The only living wo- 
man in the place was a young English lady, in a gray traveling cloak, who 
liad been stopped on the frontier, and who was forwarded on her way 
home by the war correspondent of an English journal.' 
Lady J. That was Grace. 
Horace, ^nd I was the war correspondent. 

Julian. A fev/ words more, and you will undoubtedly Understand my 
object in claiming your attention. (reads 

'Instead of attending at the hospital myself, I communicated by letter 
the failure of my attempt to discover the missing nurse. It was only yes- 
terday that I received another summona to visit the patient. She had 



7 



THE NEW magdale:^. HSi 

sufficiently recovered to claim her discharge, and had announced her in- 
tention of returning to England. The head physician, feeling a sense of 
responsibility, had sent for me. It was impossible to detain her on the 
ground that she was not fit to be trusted by herself at large, in conse- 
quence of the difference of opinion among the doctors on the case. All 
that could be done was to give me due notice, and to leave the matter in 
my hands. I found her sullen and reserved. She openly attributed my 
inability to find the nurse, to want of zeal for her interests on my 
part. I had no authority whatever to detain her. I could only inquire 
whether she had money enough to pay her ti'aveliug expenses. Her reply 
informed me that the English residents had subscribed a small sum to en- 
able her to return to her own country. I asked next if she had friends to 
go to in England. "I have one friend who is a host in herself — Lady 
Janet Koy." You may imagine my surprise when I heard this. I found 
it quite useless to make any further inquiries as to how she came to know 
your aunt, whether your aunt expected her, and so on. My questions 
evidently offended her ; they u'ere received in sulky silence. Under these 
circumstances I have decided to insure the poor creature's safety when she 
arrives in London, by giving her a letter to you. One last word of infbr- 
jnation, and I shall close. At my first interview with her I abstained from 
irritating her by any inquiries on the subject of her name. On this second 
occasion, however, I decided on putting the question.' 

Ludy Janet during the last few lines has got hekind Julian's chair, and is look- 
ing over his shoulder. Julian perceiving her puts his hand over letter. 

! j 

I LadT/ J. What do you do that for ? 

' Julian. You are welcome, Lady Janet, to read the close of the letter for 
yourself; but before you do so 1 am anxious to prepare you for a very great 
surprise. Comi)osc yourself, and let lue read on slowly, with your eyes on 
inc, until I uncover the last two words which close my friend's letter. 
I {reads 

*l looked the woman straight in the face, and I said to her. You have de- 
nied that the name marked on the clothes which you wore when you carao 
here was ^our name. If you are not T^Iercy Merrick, v/ho are you? She 

answered instantly, "My name is "' {Julian removes hand 

,• Ladij J. {ui astonishment) Ah! 

Horace, (jumping up) Tell me, one of you, what name did she give ? 

Julian. Grace Roseberry. 

Horace. Is this a joke? If it is I don't see the humor of it! 

Ija<bj J. Til e woman is plainly mad ! 

Julian. Well, be that as it may, she will be here in a very few moments. 

Ladi/ J. You don't expect me to see the woman? 

Julian. I hope you will not refuse to see her. 
• L'ldy J. At what time did you say she would come ? ♦ 

Julian, {looking at watch) She is ten minutes after her time now. 

Enter Javies, c. d., iviih card on tray. 

James. A lady to see you, sir. 

Julian. {quieiJjj) She is here. {hands card to Lcidy Janet 

Lady J. {throws card back to Juliayi) Miss Roscberry — printed — actual- 
ly printed on her card. Julian, my patience has it's limits. I refuse to see 
her. 

Julian. James, where is the lady now? 

Ja7HCs. In the breakfast room, sir. 

Julian. Leave her there, if you please, and wait outside within hearing 
of the bell, {exit James) Forgive me for venturing to give the man his 
6rder3 in your presence, I am very anxious that you should not decide 
hastily. Surely vre ought to hear v.-hat this lady has to say ? 
. Horace. It is an insult to Grace to hear what 'she has to^say. 

Lxdy J. 1 think so too. ^ 



'^ THE KEW MAGDALEN.- 

Julian, (to Horace) Pardon me, 1 have no intention of presuming to 
reflect on Miss Roscberry. (to Lady Janet) The consul's letter mentions 
that the medical authorities of Mauuheim were divided in opinion on their 
patient's case. Some of them — the physician-in-chief being among thft 
number — believe that the recovery of her mind has not accompanied the 
recovery of iier body. 

Lady J. In other words, a madw oman in my house, and I am expected 
to receive her. 

Julian, The consul assures us that she ia perfectly gentle and harmless. 
\sk your own kind heart denr aunt, if it would not be downright cruelty to 
urn this forlorn woman adrift in the world without making some inquiry 
irst. 

fjariy J. There is some truth in that Julian. Don't you think so Horace? 

Horace. I can't say I do. 

Julian. We are all three equally interested in setting this matter at rest. 

( put it to you, Lady Janet, \i we are not favored, at this moment, with the 

veiy opportunity that we want? J.Iiss Rosaberry is out of the house — if wo 

it ihis chance slip, who can say what awkward accident may not happen 

a the course of the next few days. 

Lady J. Let the woman come in at once, Julian, before Grace cornea 
jack. Will you ring the bell this time?. 

Julian. {7'i7igs bell) May I give the man his orders ? 

Enter, James c, , 

Lady J i {angrily) Give him what you like and be done with it. 

Julian. Show the lady in. {exit James 0, 

L'l^iy J. {to Horace loho is going R.) You are not going away ? 

Horace. I see no use in remaining. < 
Lfidy J. Remain here because I wish it. 

Horace {p:eoisMy) Cirtainly — aily remember that I differ entirely 
from Julian's views. In my opinion the woman has no claim on us. 

Julian. Don't be hard, Horace, all women have a claim on us. 

Enter, Gracec, poorly dressed, and pale. Lady Janet and Horace r., Julian l. ' 

Grace, {pause — looks from Julian to Horace) Mr. Julian Gray ? 

Julian, {bowing and advancing a step) lam sorry I was not at home 
when you called with your letter from the Consul. Pray take a chair. 

{all are scaled tut Horace 

Lady J. (aside) I am obliged to listen to this person, but I am not 
obliged to speak to her. That is Juinn's business — not mine, (aloud) 
Don't stand, Horace! You fidget me. Sit down. (Horace siis &. . 

Grace, (to Julian, points to Lady J.) Is that Lady Janet Roy ? 

Juli.a.7i. It is. 

Grace.t (goes to Lady J.) Almost the last words my father said to me on 
his depth-bed, were words, madam, which told me to expect protection and 
kindness from you. (-pause) Was my lather wrong ? i 

Lady J. (coldly) Who M'as your father ? 

Grace. Has the servant not given you my card? Don't you know my 
a me? 

Ijady J. Which of your names? 

Grace. 1 don't understand your ladyship. 

Laeiy J. You asked me if I knew your name. I ask you, in return, which 
sauie it is? The name on your card is Miss Roseberry. The name marked 
m your clothes, when yon were in the hospital, was Mercy Merrick. 

Grace, (to Julian) Surely, your Iriend, the consul, has told you in hia 
letter about the mark on the clothes? 

Julian, (kindly) The consul has informed me of what you said to him, 
but, if you will take my advice, I recommend you to tell your story to Lady 
Janet in your own words. 

Grace, (sadly) The clothes your ladyship speaks of, were the clothes of 
another woman. The rain was pouring when the soldiers detained me on 



THE NEW MAGDALEN. 21 

the frontier. I had been exposed for hours to the weather— I was wet to 
the skin. The clothes marked Mercy Merrick were the clothes lent to m© 
by Mercy Merrtck herself, while my own things were drying. I was struck 
by the shell in those clothes. 1 was carried away insensible in those clothei 
ftfter the operation had been periortned on nie. 

ia'/y J. {to Horace^ She is ready with her explanation. 

Horace. A great deal too ready. 

Grace. Am I to understand that ^'ou don't believe me? 
Lady J. {haughtUij) Address your inquiries to the gentleman who intro- 
duced you. 

Jataii. {pacifically) Lady Janet asked you a question just nowj Lady 
Janet inquired who your father was. 

Grace. My ftither was the late Colonel Roseberryj 

Lady J, (to Horace) Her assurance amazes me. 

Julian. Pray let us hear her. {to Grace, kindly) Have you any proof 
to produce, wh'ich will satisfy us that you are Colonel Roseberry's daugh- 
ter? 

Grace. Proof! Is not my word enough? 

JuHan. Pardon n>e, you forget that you and Lady Janet meet now for 
the first time. How is she to know that you are the late Caloael Roseber- 
ry's daughter? 

Grace. Ah ! if I only had the letters that have been stolen from me. 

Julian. Letters introducing you to Lady Jaaot? 
- Grace. Yes, let me tell you how I lost them. 

Julian. Never mind the letters. Have you any friends in London, who 
can vouch for you ? 

Grace, {filoxoly) I have no friends in London, 

L-idy J. No friends in London ? 
, Horace. Of course not. 

Grace, {impetuously) My friends are in Canada. Plenty of friends who 
could speak f<»r me, if I could only b;iug them here. 

Horace. Far enough off, certainly. 

Laly J. Far enough off, as you say. 

Julian. A little more patience, Lady Janet. A little consideration, Hor- 
ace for a friendless woman. 

Grace. Thank you, sir, it is very kind of you to try and help me, but ib 
is useless. They won't even listen lo lae. 

Julian. I will listen to you. You referred me just now to the consul's 
letter. The consul tells me you suspected some one of taking your papers 
and your clothes. 

Grace. I tell you positively Mercy Merrick was the thief. She was alon© 
with me when 1 was struck down by the shell. She was the only person 
who knew that I had letters of introduction nbout me. She confessed to my 
face that she had been a bad woman — she had been in a prison— she had 
eome from a refuge— 

Julian. The consul tells me you asked him to search for Mercy Merrick. 
Is it not true that he caused inquiries to be made, and that no trace of any 
such person was to be heard of? 

Grace. He was, like every body else, in a conspiracy to neglect and mis- 
judge me. 

JuHan. Granting all that you have said, what use could Mercy Merrick 
make of your letters and clothes? 

Grace. What use ? My clothes were marked with my name. One of my 
papers was a letter from my father, introducing me to Lady Janet. A wo- 
man out of a rel'uge would be quite capable of presenting herself here in my 
place. 

Lady J. Give me your arm Horace, I have heard enough. 

Horace. Your ladyship is quite right. This is monstrous. 
Grace. What is monstrous ? 

Julian, {sternly) Silence! You are offending ; unjustly offending Lady 
Janet when you talk of another woman presenting herself here iu your 
places 



22 - THE NEW MAGDALEN. 

Grace. Ilave you never read of cases of falso personation, in uevrgpapers 
^nd books? I blindly confided in Mercy Merrick before I found out what 
her character really was. She left the cottage — I know it, from the surgeon 
who brought me to life again — firmly persuaded that the shell had killed 
nie. My papers and niy clothes disappeared at the same time. Is there 
nothing suspicious in these circumstances? One word, Lady Janet, before 
you turn your back on me, and I will be content. Has Colonel Roseberry's 
letter found its way to this house or not? If it has, did a woman bring it 
to you ? 

Lady J. You are surely not aware that these questions are an insult to 
me? 

Horace. And worse than an insult to Grace. 

Grace. Grace! What Grace? That's my name. Lady Janet you AaiJe 
got the letter. The woman is here! 

L'ldy J. Julian you force me for the first time in my life to remind you 
of the respect that is due in my own house. Lead that woTuan away. 

{crosaes to Horace. Grace has stepped doivn toward him 
Stand back if you please. 

Grace. {do7i'r Hir) The woman is here, confront me with her, then send 
me away if you like. 

Julian. You forget what is due to Lady Janet, (takes her arm and draios 
her up c.) You forget what is due to yourself. 

Grace, {vjildbj) Justice ! I claim my right to meet this woman, face to 
face. Where is she? Confront me with her. 

Eiiier Mercy y c. d. 
Ah ! there she is, 

Mercy falls c, Horace at her side ktieels, Lady J. l. of c, Julian n. 

Grace l. c. 

CUPwTAIN. 



ACT II. 
Scene same as ACT I, L^dy Janet dl:zovzred l. c. on so/a reading letler. 

"Dear Aunt: — Pray be under noalarm about there-appearance of this un- 
happy woman at yourhonsp. She is fully occupied in writing (at my sug- 
gestion) to her friends in Canada; and she is under the care of the land- 
lady at her lodgings — who has eatisiied the doctor as well as myself of her 
fitness for the charge that she lias undertaken. Pray mention this to Miss 
Roseberry with the respectful expression of my sj'mpathy and of ray best 
wishes oi her speedy restoration to health." {rap at door, R.) Come in. 

Enter Julian Gray, v.. 
You or your ghost ? 

Julian. I got back from tlie Continent last night, and I came here, as I 
promised, to report myself on my return. How does your ladyship do? 
Hov.' is Miss Roseberry ? 

Lady J. {-poird^ to her breast) Hero is an old lady, v.- ell. points r. 

And there is a young lady, ill. Is any thing the matter with you, Julian ? 

Julian. I am a little tired after my journey. Is Miss Roseberry still 
MifTering from the shock? 

Lady J. What else should she be suffering from? I will never forgive 
you, Julian, for bringing that crazy iraposter into my house. 

Julian. My dear aunt, when I was the innocent means ot bringing her 
here I had no idea that such a person as Miss Roseberry AVas in existence. 
Have you had medical advice? 

Lady J. I took her to the seaside a week since by medical advice. 

Julian. Has the change of air done her any good ? 



THE NEW MAGDALEN.. 23 

r 

La^y J. None whatever. Sometimas she sits for hours together, as pale 
as death, without looking at any thing, and without uttering a word. Some- 
times she brightens up, and seein3 as if she was eaf^er to say something ; 
Oind then, checl<3 herself suddenly as if she was afrai^l to speak. I could 
support that. But what cuts ine to the heart, Julian, is, that she does not 
appear to trust ine and to love me as she did. If I did not know that it was 
simply impossible that such a thing could be, I should really tfaink she 
susoected me of believing what that wretch said other. There is serious 
liiischief somewhere ; and try as i may to discover it, it is mischief beyond 
my finding. 

Julian. C;in the doctor do nothing ? 

Lady J. The doctor ! I brought Grace back last night in sheer despair, 
and I sent for the doctor this morning, He is at the head of his profession 
and he knows no more about it than I do. He has just gone away with two 
guineas in his pocket. One guinea for advising me to keep her quiet ; 
another guinea for telling me to trust to time. Do you wonder how he gets 
on at this rate? Let us change the subject. Hose my temper vfheu I think 
of it. Why did ypu go abroad ? 
Julian. I wrote to explain. 

Lady J. Oh, I got your letter. It was long enough, but it didn't tell me 
the one thing 1 wanted to know. 
Julian. What is the one thing? 

L^'iy J. I w.mt to know why you troubled yourself to make your in- 
quiries on the Continent in person? You know where ray old. courier is to 
be found. Answer me honestly, could you not have sent him in your 
place? 

Julian. I might have sent him. 

Lady J. You might have sent the courier — and you were under an en- 
gagement to stay here as my guest. Why did you go away? 
Julian. I had a reason ot my own for going. 
L^tdy J. Yes. 

Julian. A reason which I would rather not mention. 
Lady J. Oh! Another mystery — eh? And another woman at the bot- 
tom of it, no doubt. No wonder, as a clergyman, that you look a little con- 
fused. We will change the subject again. You stay here, of course, now 
you hn ve come back ? 

Julian. I beg your ladyship to accept my thanks and ray excuses. 
.Ladi/J. Mighty civil, i am. sure. Say, Mr. Julian Gray presents his 
compliments to Lady Janet Roy, and regrets that a previous engagement — 
Julian! I am not to be triflad with! There is but one explanation of your 
conduct — you are evidently avoiding my house. Is there somebody you 
dislike in it?, Isitme? 
Julian. No, mv dear lady. 
Lady J. Is it Grace Roseberry? 

^Julian. (/ias/!i7_r/) . You insist on knowing? It is Miss Roseberry. 
Lady J. You don't like her? 

Julian. If I see any more of her I shall be the unhapplest man living. 
If I see any more of her, I shall be false to my old friend, who is to marry 
her. If you have any regard for my peace of mind, keep us apart. 
Lady J. You don't mean to tell me you are in love with Grace? 
Julian. I don't know what to tell you. No other woman has ever 'i'oused 
the feeling in me which this womtan seems to have called to life in an in- 
stant. In the hope of forgetting her I broke my engagement here : I pur- 
posely seized the opportunity of ra iking those inquiries abroad. Quite vise- 
less. I think. of her morning, noon, and night. She has made herself a p«rt 
of myself. My power of will seems to be gone. I said to myself this morn- ' 
Ing, I will write to my aunt ; I won't go back to Mablethorpe House. Here, 
I am in Mablethorptj House, with a mean subterfuge to justify me to my 
own conscience. I owe it to my aunt, to call on my aunt. That is what I 
said to myself on the way here ; and I was secretly hoping every step of 
the way here that she would come into the room when I got here. I am 
oping it now. And she is engaged to Horace Holmcroft, to my best friend ! 



I 24 THE NEW MAGDALEK. 

I Am I an infernal rascal? Oram la weak fool? God knows — I don'i 
' Keep my secret, aunt. I am heartily ashamed of myself; I used to tbiak 
I was made of better stuff than this. L>on't say a word to Horace. I must, 
and will, conquer it. Let me e^o. (seizes hat and rushes to c. d. 

L'ldy J. (stopping hi.m) No, I won't let you go. Comeback with me. 
Sit down, Julian, and don't talk in that horrible way again. A man — espec- 
ially a famous man Wke you — ought to know how to control himself. 

Julian. Send up stairs for my self-conirol ; it is in /ler possession, not in 
mine. Good morning, aunt. 

Lady J. I insist on your staying. I have something to say to you. 
' Julian. D">es it refer to Miss Rosebeiry ? 

1 Lady J. No, it refers to that mad wo 'nan, and I tell you, Julian, that she 
not only frightens Grace, but she frightens me. 

Julian. Never mind! she shall nottr'^uble you again, for I have gained 
great influence over her and I have satisfied her, that it is useless to pre- 
sent herself here again. 

Enter Horace c. in tlvic to Itear last speech, 

i ^Horace. You have done nothing of the soro. 

) Lad}) J. Good heavens, Horace, what do you mean ? '• 

Horace. I heard at the lodgo that your ladyship and Grace had returned 
last night, and I came in at once, without troubling the servants, by tho 
shortest way. The woman you were just speaking about has been here 
again already, in Lady Janet's absence. 
Lady J. Impossible, there muat be some mistake. 

Horace. There is no mistake. I am repealing what I have just heard 
from the lodge-keeper, himself. {goR'i up to tabic, k, u. k. looks at book 

Lady J. There is really a reason, Julian, for your not leaving the house 
now. 

Julian. I promise not to go away, aunt, until I have provided for your 
security. If vou, or your adopted daughter, are alarmed by another intro- 
sion, I give you my word of honor, my card shall go to the police station, 
however painfully I may feel it myself. You see I have arranged at the 
station, so that if I send my carrl \vi<h a note on the back, they will send a 
policeman in plain clothes immediately. In the mean time, remember 
what I confessed to you while we were al >ne. For my sake, let me see as 
little of Miss Roseborry as possible. Shall I find you in this room when I 
. come back ? 
Laly J, Yes. 
Julian. Alone ? 

L'ldy J. Are you really as much in love with Grace as that? 
Julian, {points to Horace) ,' 

,< JjadyJ. Well? 

i Julian. Well, I never envied any man, as T envy kirn, {exit, l. 

7 Horace. Cnn I see Grace? 

j' Lady J, Nobody can see her, not even yon. / 

' ' Horace. Does your ladyship mean that Mi^s liosebcrry is in bed ? 

Lady J. {crosshj) I mean that Mi?3 Roseben-v is in her room. I mean 
that I have twice tried to persuade Miss Roseberry to dress and come down 
stairs, and tried in vain. I mean that what Miss koseberry refuses to do for 
me, she is not likely to do for you — 

Enter Mercy, l. 

Lady J. {kindly) My dear child, welcome among u8 aga!n ! You have 
come down stairs to please me ? 
Mercy, (bows) 

L'ldy J. Here is somebody who has been longing to see you, Grace. 
Mercy. Thank you, Lady Janet. Thauk yon, Horace. 

(Horace leads her to the sofa 
Lady J. Why do you come hero, my love? The drawing-room would 
have been a warmer and plensanter place for you. 
Mercy. I will stay here, if you please. 



THE IS^EW MAGDALETT. 25 

Horace. I will keep her company, {exit Lady J. Zj. 'a..) Dear Grace try 
and forget what has happeued. 

Mercy. I am trying to forget. Have you seen Mr. Julian Gray? 

Horace. Yes. 

M&rcy. What does he say about it ? 

Iiorace. I really haven't asked for his opinion. 

Mercy. Where is the person who came here and frightened me ? 

Horace Don't talk of her. Come my love, rally your spirits. We are 
young — we love each other — now is bur time to be happy ! 

[Merer/ covers her face with her ha7Hls 

Mercy, (aside) Rally your spirits ! J!/y spirits? Oli heaven! Away 
remorse! {aloud) Have you seen your mother lately, Horace ? 

Horace. I saw her yesterday. 

Mercy. She undoretands, 1 hope, that I am not well enough to call on 
her ? She is not offended with me ? 

Horace, {kindly) Offended with you! My dear Grace, she sends you her 
love. And, more than that, she has a wedding present for you. 

Mercy. Oh Horace ! if I had not been connected with Lady Janet would 
you ever thought of marrj'-ing me ? 

Horace. My love ! What is the use of asking ? You arc connected with 
Lady Janet. 

Mercy. Suppose I had not been conneoted with Lady Janet. Suppose I 
had only been q good girl, with nothing but 7ny own merits Co speak for me. 
Would your mother have liked you to mafry a pyorgirl, of no family — with 
nothing but her own virtues to speak for her? 

Horace. HI must speak, she would not. 

Mercy. C>h if I didn't love him so! Bui you would have loved me, Hor- 
ace — without stopping to think of the family naj:iie ? You would have loved 
me? 

Horace. Under an}'' circumstances, Under any name. 

Mercy, {passionately) How I love you. But go and leave rae alone. 

Horace. This is very strange. Well. Gracp, I shall soon return, {exit, l, 

Mercy, {claaping her hoLnd^) Oh, if I could only cry now there a^e none 
to see me. 

Eater Julian Gray, c. d. 

Mercy, {starting) Did you expect to find Lady Janet hero ? 

Julian. Another time-, will do. 

Mercy. She will be here directly. 

J^dian. (boioing) If I am not in the way, I'll wait. 

Mercy, {aside) If I look athim agam, I'll ful^ at his feet and confess all. 

Julian, {aside) If I loolc at her again, I'M fall at her feet and own that 
I'm in love with her. You are much better Miss Roseberry, are you not? 

Mercy. I am well enough to bo ashamed of the anxiety I have caused, 
and the trouble I have given. Horace tells me you have been abroad. 

Julian. Yes, I went to make some inquiries. 

Mercy. Did you ai-rive at any results? 

Julian. None worth mentioning. 

Mercy. I want to know your opinion of this strange woman. Do you 
think — do you think her an adventurist? 

Julian. I believe she is laboring under a delusion. 

Mercy. Does that mean that you believe her and suspect me? 

Juliam. {eagerly) iu&pect you ! The mnn doesn't live who trusts you 
moi'e implicitly, v/ho believes in you more devotedly, than I do. 

Mercy. Thank you for your conlidence, but suppose you believed that a 
woman was wickedly bent on deceiving others for a purpose of her own — 
ivould yon not shrink from her in horror a.nd disgust? 

Ju'ictn. God forbid that I should shrink from any human creature. 

M&rcy. You would still pity her? 

Ji'Mxn. With all my heart. 

Mercy. How good you are. 



J)5 THE XEW MAGDALE^r. 

Julian. No! Say that I try to love my neighbor as myself. The best 
among U3 to-day may, but for the mercy of God, be the worst among us to- 
morrow. The true Christian virtue i«s the virtue r/hioh never despa^irs of a 
fellow-creature. Frail and ftillen as we are, we can rise on the wings of ro- 
pentaiioe from earth to heaven. Who shaQ dare say to manor woniau. 
There is no hope in you? Who shall daresay the work is all vile, v.-heu 
that work bears on it the stamp of the Creator's hand? It has just struck 
me that you might, have felt more thin^a common interest in the questions 
whicti you put to me. Were you by any chance speaking of some unhappy 
woman — not the person who frigh-tened you, of coiwse — but of some other 
woman whom you know? 

Mercy, {bends her head) 

Julian, Are you interested in her? 

Mercy Yes. 

Julian. Have a'ou encouraged her? 

Mercy. I have not dared encourage her. 

Julian. Go to her and let me 2.0 with you. What has she done ? 

Mercy. She has deceived — basely deceived — innocent people who trust- 
ed her. She has wronged — cruelly wronged — another wmnan, 

Julian. You judge her very harshly. Do you know how she may have 
been tried and tempted ? Is the person she injured still living ? 

Mercy. Yeg. 

Julian. If the person is still living, she may atone for the wrong. The 
time may come wnen this sinner, too, may win our pardon and deserve our 
respect. 

Mercy. Could you respect her? 

Julian. You forget my laelancholy experience. Young as I am, I have 
seen more than most men of women who have sinned and sufTered. I can 
well understand, that she may have been tempted beyond human resistance. 
Ani I right? 

Mercy. You are right. 

Julian. She may liavo had nobody near at the time to advise her, to 
save her. Is that true? 

Mercy. It is true. 

Julian. Tempted and friendless, this woman may have committed her- 
Belf headlong to the act which ehe now vainly repents. She may long to 
make atonement and may not know how to begin. Is such a woman as this 
all wicked and vile? 1 deny it ! Give her the opportunity she neede, and 
our poor fallen fellow-creature may take her place again amoog the best of 
us — h(morcd, blameless, happy, once more ! 

Mercy, (sadliy) There is no such future as that, for the woman lam 
.hinking of. She has lost her opportunity. She has done with hope. 

Julian. Lotus understand each other She has committed an act of de- 
ception to the injury of another woman. Was that what you told me? 

Mercy. Yes. 

Julian. And she has gained something to her own advantage by the act? 

Mtrcy. Yes. ' 

Julian. Is she threatened with discovery? 

Mercy. She is safe from discovery — for the present, at least. 

Julian. Safe as long as she closes her lips ? 

Mcrey. As long as she closes her lips. 

Julian. There is her opportunity. Her future is before her. She hss 
not done with hope! Let her own the truth, without the base fear of dis- 
covery to drive her to it. Let her do justice to the woman whom she has 
wronged, while that v.'oman ie still powerless to expose her. Let her sacri- 
fice every thing that she has gained by the fraud to the sacred duty of 
atonement, If she can do that — then her repentance has nobh'' revealed the 
noble natiire hat is in her. If I saw the Pharisees and fanatics of this low • 
<T eaith passing her by in contempt, 1 would hold out my hand to her be- 
fore them all. I would say to her in her solitude and her attliction, rise, 
poor, wounded heart 1 Beautiful, purified souiJ, God's angels rejoice over 
you ! Take your place among the noblest of God's creatures I ' itavc I sat- 
itbfied you that iier opportuuity is still before her 'i 



THE XEW MAGDALEl^.' if 

MtrcAj. You have satisfied me that the world holds no truer friend to her 
than you. She shall prove herself worthy of your generous confidence in 
her — she shall show you yet that you have not spoken in vain. 

Enter Lady Jancij l., and James at c. d. 

Lady J. {to Jame-9) "Who sent for you ? 

^mes. I be^ jHurdon, but I wish to speak with Mr. Julian Gray, 

Julinn. What is it? 

Lady J. I know what has happened — that abominable woman is here 
again. Am I right? 

James. Yes, my lady. 

Julian, There is no reason to be uneasy — I shall superintend the search 
myself. 

Lady J. There is something I want before you go. 

Julian. W^hat is it ? 

Lady J. Yoiw card. Remember what you told me. The people at the 
police station have instructions to send an experienced man in plain 
clothes to any address indicated on your card the moment they receive it. 
This ie what you told me. For Grace's protection, I want your card before 
you leave us. 

Julian. You will not use this, I am sure, without positive and pressing 
necessity. {exit, Lady Janet, l. h., James and Julian, c. d. 

Mercy. ^'Let her own the truth, without the base fear of discovery to 
drive her to it. Let her do justice to the woman she Ifas wronged, wiiile 
that womau is powerless to expose her. Let her sacrifice everything that 
she has gained by the fraud to the sacred duty of atonement. If she can | 
do that, then her repentance has nobly revealed the noble nature that is in ' 
her." Oh I {passionately) If your worst fears could be realized! If I 
could only see Grace Eoseberry in this room, how fearlessly I could meet 
her now ! 

Enter Grace, r. h. — Mercy looks startled, then approaches her, 

Grace. No nearer to me 1 {Mercy seats herself, l.) I forbid you to bo 
seated in my presence. Y"ou have no right to be in this house at all. Re- 
member, if you please, who you are, ana who I am. {Mercy stands) Stand 
there, I like to look at you. It's no use fainting this time. You have not 
got Lady Janet Roy to bring you to. There are no gentlemen hero to-day 
to pity you and pick you up. Mercy Merrick, I have got you at last. 
Thank God. my turn has come! You can't escape me now! 

Mercy. I have not avoided you. I would have gone to you of my own 
accord if I had known that you were here. It is my heart-felt wish to 
own that I have sinned against you, and to make all the atonement that I 
can. 

Grace, {passionately) How dare you to speak to me as if you were my 
equal ? You stand there and answer me as if you had your right and your 
place in this house. You audacious woman! I have my right and my 
place here — and what am I obliged to do? I am obliged to hang about iu 
the grounds, and fly from the sight of the servants, and hide like a thief, 
and wait like a beggai', and all for what? For a chance of having a word 
witii you. Yes, j-ou, madam ! with the air of the Refuge and the dirt of' 
the streets on you ! 

2Iercy. {humbly) If it is your pleasure to use hard words to me, I have 
no right to resent them. 

Grace. You have no right to anything ! You have no right to the 
gowu on your back. Look at yourself, and look at me! Who gave you 
that dress? Who gave you those jewels? I know! Lady Janet gave 
them to Grace Eoseberry. Are you Grace Roseberry ? That dress is mine 
Take off your bracelets and your brooch. They were meaijt for me. 



58 THE ]NEW MAGDALEJr. 

Mercij. You may soon have them, J^Iisa Rosaberry. They will not bei> 
in my possession raany hours longer. 
Grace. What do you mean ? 

Mercy. However badly yon may use me, it is tny duty to undo the harm 
that I have done. . I am bound to do you justice — i am determined to con- 
fess the truth. 

Grace. You confe39 ! Do you think I am fool enough to believe that ? 
You are one shameful brazen lie from head to foot! Are you the womau 
to give up your silks and your jewels, and your position in tliis house, and 
to go back to the Refuge of your own accord ? Not you ! You won't con - 
fess I You have had a week to confess in, and you have not done it yet.; 
No, no ! you are of the sort that cheat and Ho to the last. I am glad of it ; 
I shall have the joy of exposing you myself before the whole house. [ 
shall be the blessed means of casting you back on the streets. Oh ! it will 
be almost worth all I have gone through to see y(>u with a policeniaa's 
hand on your arm, and the mob pointing at you and mocking you on your 
way to jail ! 

Mercy, {earnestly) Miss Roseberry, I have borne without a murmur 
the bitterest words you could say to me. Spare mo any more insults. In- 
deed, indeed, I am eager to restore you to your just rights. With my 
"whole heart I say it to you-^L am resolved to confess everything! 

Grace. You are not far from the bell, ring it. You are a perfect pic- 
ture of repentance — you are dying to own the truth. Own it before every- 
body, and own it at once. Call in Lady Janet — call in Air. Gray and ISIr. 
Holmcroft — call in the servants. Go down on your knees and acknowledge 
yourself an imposter before them all. Then i will believe you — not be- 
fore. 

Mercy, (entreativgly) Don't! Don't turn me against you 1 
Grace, What do 1 care whether you are against me or not? 
Mercy. Don't, for your own sake don't go on provoking me much longer! 
Grace. For my own sake ? You insolent creature ! Do you mean to 
threaten me ? 

Mercy. Have some compassion on me ! Badly as I have behaved to 
you, I am still a woman like yourself. I can't face the shaine of acknowl- 
edging what I have done before the whole house. Lady Janet treats me 
like a daughter; Mr. Holmcroft has en:,'aged himself to marry me. I 
can't tell Lady Janet and Mr. Holmcroft to their fac^s that 1 have cheat- 
ed them out of their love. But they shall know it for all that. I can, and 
will, before I rest to-night, tell the whole truth to Mr. Julian Gray. 

Grace. Aha 1 Now we have come to it at last. [laughs wildly 

Mercy, {threatingly) Take care ! Take care! 

Grace. Mr. Julian Gray ! I was behind the billiard-room door — I saw 
you coax Mr. Julian Gray to come in ! Confession loses ail its horrors, and 
becomes quite a luxury with Mr. Julian Gray ! 

Mercy. No more. Miss Roseberry, no more ! For God's sake don't put 
me beside myself! You have tortured me enough already. 

Grace. You haven't been in the streets for nothing. You are a woman 
with resources; you know the value of having two strings to your bow. It 
Mr. Holmcroft fails you, you have got Julian Gray. Ah ! you sicken me. 
I'll see that Mr. Holmcrolt's eyes are opened, he shall know what a wo- 
man he might have married btxt for me. 

Mercy, {slowly approachiyig her loith clenched hands) ^You will see that 
Mr. Holmcrolt's eyes are opened, he shall know what a woman he might 
have married but for you !' {pause) Who are you ? Who are yov.1 i re- 
member! You are the madwoman from the German hospital who came 
here a week ago. I am not afraid of you this time. Sit down and rest 
yourself, Mercy Meriick. 

Grace. What does this mean? 

Mercy. It means that I recall every word I said to you just ncf^. It 
means that I am resolved to keep my place in this bouse. 

Grece. Are you out of your senses ? i 

Mercy, {sarcastically) Yuu are not far from the bell. Ring it. Pff' 



THE NEW MAGDALEN; f 29 

what you asked me to do. Call in the whole household, and ask them 
■which of us is mad — you or I. 

Grace. Mercy Merrick 1 you shall repent this to the last hour of your 
life 1 

> Mercy. I have had enough of you ! Leave this house while you can 
leave it. Stay here, and I will send for Lady Janet Roy. 

Grace. You can't send for her! You daren't send for her ! 

Mercy, I can and I dare. You have not a shadow of proof against me. 
I have got the papers ; I am in possession of the place ; I have established 
myself in Lady Janet's confidence. I moan to deserve your opinion ot 
me — 1 will keep my dresses and my jewels, and my position in thi3 
house. I deny that I have done wrong. Society has used me cruelly; I 
owe nothing to society. I deny that I have injured you. How was I to 
know that you would come to life again? Have I degraded your name and 
your character? I have done honor to both. I have v/on everybody's lik- 
ing and everybody's respect. Do you think Lady Janet would have loved 
you as she loves me? Not she ! I tell you to your face I have tilled the 
false position more creditably than you could have filled the true one, and 
I mean to keep it. I won't give up your name! I won't restore your 
character ! Do your w^orst ; I defy you ! 

Grace. You defy me ? You won't defy me long. I have written to 
Canada. My friends will speak for me. 

Mercy. What of it, if they do? Your friends are strangers here. I am 
Lady Janet's adopted daughter. Do you think she will believe your 
friends ? She will burn their letters if they %vrite. She will forbid th« 
house to them, if they come. I shall be Mrs. Horace HoJmcroft in a week's 
time. "Who can shake 7ny position? Who can injure me? 

Grace. "Wait a little! You forgot the matron at the Refuge. 

Mercy. Find her if you can. I never told you her name. I never told 
you where the Refuge was. 

Grace. I will advertise your name and fmd the matron in that way. 

Mercy. Advertise in every newspaper in London. Do you think I gave 
a stranger like you the name I really bore in the Refuge ? I gave you the 
name I assumed when 1 left England. No such person as Mercy Merrick 
is known to the matron. No such person is known to Mr. Holmcroft. He 
saw me at the French cottage while you wore senseless on the bed. I had 
my gray cloak on ; neither he nor any of them saw me in my nurse's dress. 
Inquiries have been made about me on the Continent — and with no result. 
I am Grace Roseberry, and you are Mercy Merrick. Disprove it if you 
can. {points, n. n.) Will you leave the room? 

Grace. 1 won't stir a step ! 

Enter Julian y c. d. — Horace and Lady Janet, l. h. 

Lady J. {to Grace) I have no desire to offend you, or to act harshly to- 
ward you. 1 only suggest that your visits to my house cannot possibly 
lead to any satisfactory result, I hope you will understand that I wish you 
to withdraw. 

Grace. In justice to my father's memory, and in justice to myself, I in- 
sist on a hearing. I "refuse to withdraw. {seats herself R. a. 

Julian. Is this what you promised me? You gave me your word that 
you would not return to Mablethorpe House. 

Lady J. If you have not made up your mind to take my advice by the 
time i have walked back to that door, I will put it out of your power to 
set me at defiance. I am used to be obeyed, and I will be obeyed. You 
> force me to use hard words. Go! {paitse) Will you go! {points to c. n. 

Grace. I won't be turned Out of your ladyship's house in the presence of 
■that im poster. I insiston my right to the place that she has stolen from 
me. As long as that ■woman is here under my name I can't and won't 
keep away from the house. I warn her, in your presence, that I havo 
written to my friends in Canada! I dare her, before you all, to deny that 
she is the outcast and adventuress, Mercy Merrick, 

{Mercy turns as if to speak 



?,0 THE NEW MAGDALEN. 

Horace, (inicrrupivig her) You degrade yourself if you answer her. 
Take my arm and let us leave the room. 

Grace. Yes, take her out. It is her place, not mine, to leave the room I 

Mercy. I decline to leave the room. 

Horace. I can't bear to hear you insulted. The woman offends me, 
though I know she is not responsible for what she says. 

Xiadr/ J. Nobody's indurance will be tried much longer, {rings bell 

Enter James, c. d. 

—Go to the police station and give that card to the inspector on duty. Tell 
him there is not a moment to lose. {exit, James, c. d. 

Julian. I wish to say a word in private to this lady. {Grace) When 
lliat is done, {to Mercy) I shall have a request to make — I shall ask you 
to give me an opportunity of speaking to you without interruption. 

Grace, {vnih mock politeyiess) Pray don't think twice about trusting 
liim alone with me. I am not interested in making a conquest of Mr. 
Julian Gray. 

Mercy. I am much obliged to you, Mr. Gray. I have nothing more to 
Kay. There is no need for me to trouble you again. 

Horace. You spoke just now of wishing to say a word in private to that 
person. Shall we retire, or will you take her into the library ? 

Grace, {quickly) I refuse to have anything to say to him. He has been 
effectually hoodwinked. If I speak to anybody privately, it ought to be to 
you. 

Horace. What do you mean? 

Grace. Do you mean to marry an outcast from the streets ? 

Lady J. {to Horace) You were right in suggesting that Grace had bet- 
ter leave the room. Let us all three go. Julian will remain here and give 
the man his directions when he arrives. Come I 

Horace. No. {takes jeiocl case from table — takes out necklace) Wait! 
That wretch shall have her answer. She has sense enough to see, and 
Rcnse enough to hear. Grace, my mother sends you her love and her con- 
gratulations ou our approaching marriage. She bega you to accept, as part 
of your bridal dress, these pearls. They have been in our family for cen- 
turies. As one of the family, honored and beloved, my mother offers them 
to my wife. 

Julian, {aside) Have I been mistaken in her? 

Horace, {pv.itinrj on pearls) Your Imsband puts these pearls on your 
neck, love. Now we may go iuto the library. She has seen and heard. 

Grace. You will hear, and you will see, v/hen my proofs come from Can- 
ada. You will hear that your wife has stolen ray name and my character I 
You will see your wife dismissed from this house ! 

Mercy. You are mad. ( Grace sinks back into chair with a low cry 

"Enter Policeman in plain clothes — pause* ' i 

Policeman. Is Mr. Julian Gray here? 

Grace. Who is he? 

Julian (to Police) Wait, I will speak to you directly; 

Mercy, {shoxoing great emotion) Who is he ? 

Julian, A poiicenian in plain clothes. 

Mercy. Why is he here? 

Julian. Can't you guess ? 

Mercy. No. 

Horace, {stepping up to Julian and Mercy) Am I in the way? 

Julian. Ask Horace why the officer is here. 

Mercy, {to Horace) Why is he here? 

Horace. He is here to relieve us of that woman. 

Mercy. Do you mean to take her awa}' ? 

Horace. Yes. 

Mercy. Where will he take her? .^ 

Horace, To the police station, - ^ 



THE NEW MAGDALEX. "' -._^ . 31 

Mercy. To the police station ? What for? 

Horace. To be placed under treatmeat, of course. 

3/c'7'cy. Do you mean a prison ? 

Horace. I mean an asylam. 

Merc;}, (to Julian) Oil! Horace is surely wron^:;. It oan't be ! (Julian 
ts- si/i:7it) What kind of an asylum? You surely don't mean a mad-house? 

Horace. I do. The work-house first, perhaps — and then the mad-house. 
You yourself told her to her face she was mad. Good heavens ! how pale 
you are! What is the matter? 

Mercy, (clasps her hands) Oh! not that! Surely not that! (pause— 
durin(] which Mercy nhoxoH great emotion) Send the man out of the house ! 

Lady J. What has come to you? Do you know what you are saying ? 
The man is here in your interest, as well as in mine. And you insist on 
his being sent away I What does it mean ? 

Mercy. You sliall know what it means, Lady Janet, in half an hour. 
I don't insist — i only reiterate my entreaty. Let the man be sent away ! 

Julian. Go back to the station and wait there till you hear from me. 

(exit, Policeman, c. d. 

Lady J. I presume you are in the secret of t^.is ! I suppose you havo 
Bonie reason for setting my authority at delianceS^S^ my own house ? 

Julian. I have never yet failed to respect yoite" ladyship. Before long 
yon will know that I am not failing in respect towtird you now. 

Lady J. Is it part of your vievy arrangement of my affairs, that this per- 
son is to remain in the house ? 

Mercy, (crosses to Grace, and aside to her) Give me time to confess it 
in writing. I can't own it before them — with this around my neck, (aloud) 
1 beg your ladyship to permit her to remain luitil the half hour is over, 
''.ly request will have explained itself by that time, 

Horace, .Am I included io the arrangement which engages you to ex- 
plain your extraordinary conduct in half an hour? 

Mercy, (with emotion) pU you f)lease. 

Horace- 1 dislike mysteries and innuendoes. Why am I to wait half an 
}i<)ur for au explanation which might be given now? What am I to wait 
for ? 

Mercy. Wait to hear something more of Mercy Merrick. 

Ladi/ J. Don't return to that. We know enough about jMercy Merrick 
already. 

Mercy. Pardon me, your ladyship does not know. I am the only per- 
son who can inform you. 

Jjady J. (astonished) You? 

Mercy. I have begged you. Lady Janet, to give me half an hour. In 
half an hour 1 solemnly engage myself to produce Mercy Merrick iu this 
room. Lody Janet Roy, Mr. Horace Ilolmcroft, you are to v/ait for that, 
(pucsjcwels tntfl case, gives to Horace) Keep it until we meet again, (to 
Jjady Janet) Have I your ladyship's leave to go to my room? (Lady Janet 
boras — Mercy goes io u. u. e. — to Grace) Are you satisfied now? (to Julian) 
You will see that she is allowed a room to wait in ? You will warn her 
yourself when the half-hour expires? 

Julian, (goes up, takes Mercy's hand, leads her io L. C, lays hand on her 
shoulder) Well done ! Nobly done! All my sympathy is with you-— all 
my help is yours 1 

PICTURE AND CURTAIN. 



ACT 125. 

SCENE.—Apartjntnt in 4th grooves — table L. c, two chairs at fable — mArror 
at c, on flat — sofa and chairs arranged tastefully around stage — Mercy dis^ 
covered reading letter. 

. KzTcy, Poor dear Lady Janet has guessed the truth. How kindly sha 



rs2 THE NEW MAGDALETT. 

tries to smooth it over, (reads) "I must request you to delay for a little 
' Avhile the explanation which you have promised me. I must have time to 
rompose myself before I can hear what you have to say. In the mean 
time everything will go on as usual. My nephew Julian, and Horace 
Holmcroft, and the lady I found in the dining-room will, by my desire, re- 
main in the house until I am able to meet them, and to meet you, again." 
{goes up to mirror) Haggard! Ghastly! Old before my time I Well, 
better so. He will feel it less— he will not regret me. 

Enter Julian, l. d. in flat. 

Julian. In answer to your request I am here. I feel the deepest inter- 
est in hearing all you have to confide to me. But anxious as I may be 
1 will not hurry you. I will wait if you wish it. 

Mercy. I rearret it, but I have promised in half an hour to give my time 
exclusivel}'- to Horace, as he has asked it. 

Julian, {sadly) Could you give me those few minutes? I have some- 
thing to say to you which 'l think you ought to know before you see any 
•one — Horace himself included. ^ 

Mercy. I willingly oflor you all the time that I have at my own com- 
mnnd. Does what you have to tell me relate to Lady Janet ? 

Julian. What I have to tell you of Lady Janet is soon told. Lady Janet 
knows all. 

M:rcy. Lady Janet knows all ? Have you told her? 

Julian. I have said nothing to Ladv Janet or to any one. Your confi- 
idcnce is a sacred confidence to me, until you have spoken first. 

Mercy. Has Lady Janet said anything to you? 

Julian. Not a word. She has'looked at you with the vigilant eyes oi 
"love ; she has listened to you with the quick hearing of love — and she has 
found her ovv'n way to the truth. She will not speak of it to me — she will 
not speak of it lo any living creature. I only know now how dearly 
:she loved you. In spite of herself she clings to you still. Ail the best 
^'■ears of her life have been A'/asted in the unsatisfied longing for something 
"lo love. At the end of her life you have filled the void. At her age — at any 
jige — is such a tie as this to be rudely broken at the mere bidding of cir- 
cumstances? Nol She will suifer anything, risk anything, forgive any- 
thing, rather than to own, even to herself, that she has been deceived in 
you. I am firmly convinced — from my own knowledge of her character, 
and what I hare "observed in her to-day — that she will find some excuse 
for refusing to hear your confesbion. And more than that, I believe that 
she will leave no means untried of preventing you from acknowledging 
your true position here to any living creature. 

Mercy, {vjecping] Go on. 

Julian. I saw the moment in which the truth flashed on her, as plainly 
as I now see ycu. She suspected nothing — until the time came in which 
you pledged yourself to produce Mercy Merrick. Then the truth broke on 
her mind, trebly revealed to her in your words, your voice, and your look. 
Then I saw a marked change come over her, and continue while she re- 
mained in the room. I dread to think of what she may do in the first 
reckless despair of the recovery that she has made. You have held nobly 
to your resolution to own the truth. Prepare yourself, before the day 13 
over, to be tried and tempted again. 

Mercy. How is it possible that temptation can come to me now? 

Julian. 1 will leave it to events to answer that question. You will not 
tifive long to wait. In the meantime I have put you on your guard. Hold 
fast by the admirable courage which you have shown thus far. ^ Be the 
woman whom I once spoke of — the woman I still hare in my mind — who 
can nobly reveal the nuble nature that is in her. And never forget this — 
my faith in you is as firm as ever. 

Mercy. I am pledged to justify your faith in me — I have put it out of my 
power to yield. Horace has my promise to explain everything to him. in 
ti)i3 room. I want yon to be near me then — I can count on your sympathy, 
and sympathy is so precious to me now. Am I asking too much if I ask 



THE NEW MAGDALE2T. . S3 

you to leave the door unclosed, when you £^o back to the dining room? 
Think of the dreadful trial — to him as well as me. I am only a woman — I 
am afraid I may sink under it if I have no friend near me, and I have no 
friend but you. 

Enter James, l., with a letter which he hands to Mercy, and exits same place. 

Mercy, (opens the letter and looks at it — pause) This is the hardest of 
nil 1 My own dear Lady Janet ! 

Julian. What is the matter? 

Mercy, (sadly) 0, Lady Janet 1 Lady Janet I There is one trial more 
in my hard lot — a bitter one. Listen, (reads the letter, frequently sobbing) 

''My dear child; — I have had time to think, and compose myself a little, 
since I last wrote requesting you to defer the explanation you promised me. 
I already understand the motives which kd you to interfere as you did, and 
I now ask you to entirely abandon the explanation. It Avill, I am sure, be 
painful to you to produce the person of whom you spoke, and you knov/ 
already, I myself am weary of hearing of her. The stranger whose visits 
here has caused us so much pain and anxiety, will trouble us no more. 
She leaves England of her own free will, after a conversation with me, 
which has perfectly succeeded in satisfying her. Not a word more, ray 
dear, to me, or to my nephew of what has happened in the diuing-room to- 
day. When we next meet, let it be understood between us that the past is 
henceforth and forever buried in oblivic.n. This is not only the earnest 
request — it is, if necessary, the positive command of your mother and 
friend, Jamet Roy. 

"P. S. — I shall fiud opportunities (before you leave the room) of speaking 
separately to my nephew and to Horace Ilolmcroft. I will not ask you to 
answer my note in writing. Say yes, to the servant who will bring it to 
you, and I shall know we understand each other." 

Julian. Does this shake your resolution ? 

Mercy. It strengthens my resolution. She has added a new bitterness to 
my remorse. 

Julian. Don't judge her harshly. She is miserably wrong. She has 
recklessly degraded herself; she has recklessly tempted you. She is at 
the close of her days ; she can feel no new afl^ction ; she can never replace 
you. Think of her wounded heart and her wasted life — and say to your- 
self forgivingly — she loves me ! 

Mercy. I do say it I Not forgivingly — it is I who have need of for- 
giveness. I say it gratefully when I think of her — I say it with shame 
and sorrow when I think of myself. 

Julian. I can imagine no crueler trial than the trial that is now before 
you. The benefactress to whom you owe everything, asks nothing from 
you but your silence. Horace himself (unless I am much mistaken) will 
not hold you to the explanation that you have promised. The temptation 
to keep your false position iu this house is, I do not scruple to say, all but 
irresistable. Sister and friend ! Will you still own the truth, without the 
base fear of discovery to drive you to it? 

Mercy. I will! 

Julian. You will do justice to the woman you have wronged — unworthy 
as she is, powerless as she is to expose you? 

Mercy. I will ! 

Julian. You will sacrifice everything you have gained by the fraud to 
the sacred duty of atonement ? ^ 

Mercy. I v/ill. (faintly 

Julian. Thank God for this day ! I have been of some service to one of 
God's creatures 1 

Enter Horace, l. d. in fiat. 

Horace, (looking from one to the other — angrily) I knew it. If I could 
only have persuaded Lady Janet to bet, I should have won a hundre'^ 
jjounds. Would you like to know the bet? 



•^4 THE NEW MAGDALEX. ' 

Julian, (quietly) I should prefer seeing you able to control yourself, io 
the presence of this lady. 

Horace. I offered to lay Lady Janet two hundred pounds to one that I 
should find you here, making love to Mias lloseberry behind iny back. 

Mercy. It" you cannot speak without insulting; one of us, permit me to re- 
quest that you will not address yourself to Mr. Julian Gray. 

Horace. Pray don't alarm y(«ur3clf — I am pledged to be scrupulously 
civil to both of you. Lady Janet only allov/ed me to leave her on condi- 
tion of my promising to behave with perfect politeness. I have two privil- 
edged people to deal with — a parson and a woman. The parson's profes- 
sion protects him, and the woman's sex protects her. I beg to apologize if 
] have forgotten the clergyman's profession and the lady's sex. 

Julian. You have forgotten more than that. You have forgotten that 
you were born a gentleman, and bred a man of honor. So far as I am con- 
cerned, I don't ask you to remember that I am a clergyman — I obtrude my 
[)rofession on nobody — I only ask you to remember your birth and your 
breeding. 

Enter James, l., with telegram, which he hands io Mercy. 

James. For Mr. Julian Gray. {exit, l. 

Mercy, [hands Julian envelope) It is addressed to you, at my request. 
You will recognize the name of the person who sends it, and you will 
find a message in it for me. 

Horace. Another private understanding between you ! Give me that 
telegram. 

Julian. It is directed to me. {opens dispatch 

Horace. Give it to me! I will have it! Give it to me or it will be 
worse for you. {raises hand to strike Julian 

Mercy. Give it to me. {Julian gives telegram to Mercy, who hands it io 
Horace} Read it. 

Julian. Spare him. Remember he is unprepared, {to Horace) Don't 
read it. Hear what she has to say first. 

Horace. I will not. 

Julian falls into chair at table, h. c, buries his face in his hands — Horace 
looks over telegram, puis his hand to his head. 

Horace, (tremblingly) What does this mean ? It can't be for yow. 

Mercy, (slowly) It is for me. 

Horace, (amazed) What have you to do with a Refuge ? 

Mercy, I have come from a Refuge, and I am going back to a Refuge. 
Mr. Horace Ilolmcroft, I am Mercy Merrick. 

. Horace. { fails in chair p.. of table L. c, and buries his face in his hands — a 
pause, token he raises his head slowly) Julian, there is the woman I am en- 
gaged to marry. Did I not hear her say that she had come out of a Refuge, 
and was going back to a Refuge? Did I not hear her own to my face that 
her name was Mercy Merrick? 

Julian, (points to Mercy, ivho is seated R. at small table, with her arms ex- 
tended across it, and her head buried between them) Look ! There is your 
answer. {Horace leans his head on Julian's shoulder and sobs 

Mercy, {springing up) My God ! What have I done? 

Julian. You have helped rae to save him — let his tears have their way. 
Wait. 

Horace, {wiping his eyes) Thank you — I am better now. 

Julian. Are you composed enough to listen to what is said to you? 

Horace. Yes. T>o you wish to speak to me? 

Julian, {crosses to Mercy) The timo has come. Tell him all — truly, 
unreservedly — as you would tell it to me. 

Mercy, (shuddering) Have I not told him enough ? Do you want me to 
break his heart? Look at him ! See what I have done already ! 

Horace, (wildly) No, I can't listen ! I dare not listen ! 

Julian. For her sake, as well as your own, you shall not condemn her 
unheard. One temptation after another to deceiye you, has tried her, audi' 



THE ITEW MAGDALEN. 35 

nlhc has resisted them all. With no discoA-ery to fear, -with a letter from 
the benefactress who loves her connnamling: her to be eilent, with every- 
thing a woman values in this world to lose, if she owns wh<\t she has done 
—this woman, for the truth's sake, has spoken the truth. Does she de- 
serve nothing at your hands in return for that? Respect her, Horace — 
and hear her. {to Mercy) Tell him how you were tried and tempted, with 
no friend near to speak the words which might have saved you-— and then 
let him judge you if he can. 

Mercy, (c.) Mr. Gray has asked me to tell him, and you, how my 
troubles began. Thf^y began before my recollection. My n olbor ruined 
her prospects when she was quite young, by a niarriage with one of her 
father's servants. After a short time she and her hu>-band separated — ou 
the condition of her sacrificing to him the whole of the fortune she pos- 
eessed in her own right. Gaining her freedom, my mother had to gain her 
daily bread next. Her family refusing to take her back, she attached her- 
self to a conifiany jof strolling players. She was earning a bare living this 
way, when my father accidentally met her. He was a man of high rank, 
proud of his position. My mother's beauty fascinated him. He took her 
from the players, and surrounded her with every luxury that a woman, 
could desire in a house other own. I don't know how long they lived to- 
gether. I know that my father, at the time of my first recollections, had 
abandoned her. She had excited his suspicions of her fidelity — suspicions 
which cruelly wronged her, as she declared to her dying day. I believed 
her because she was my mother. My father left her absolutely penniless. 
He never saw her again ; and he refused to go to her when she sent to him 
in her last moments on earth. My mother had confided to rne, in her last 
moments, my father's name and the address of his house in London. "He 
may feel some compassion for you," she said, "though he feels none for me, 
try him." I had a few shillings, the last pitiful remains of my wages, ia 
my pocket; and I was not far from London. But I never went near my 
father. Does this confession revolt you ? You look at rae, Mr. Holmcrofr, 
B3 if it did. You will forgive a)id understand me if I say no more of thia 
period of my life. Let me pass to the new incident in my career, which 
brought me before the public notice in a court of law. - Sad as my expe- 
rience has been, it has not taught me to think ill of human nature. I ha(t 
Iriends — faithful friends, among my sisters in adversity. One of theso 
poor women especially attracted my sympathies. We lived together like 
sisters. You will hardly understand it, but even we had our happy days. 
When she or I had a few shilling to spare, we used to ofl'er one another 
little presents, and enjoy our simple pleasure in giving and receiving as 
keenly as if we had been the most reputable women living. One day I 
took my friend into a shop to buy her a ribbon— only a bow for her dress. 
She was to choose it, and I was to pay for it. The man, in clearing son\e 
handkerchiefs out of the way, suddenly missed one. I was poorly dressed, 
Hnd I was close to the handkerchiefs. After one look at me he shouced to 
the superintendent, '-Shut the door I There is a thief in the shop I" Tho- 
door was closed, the lost handerchief vainly sought for. A robbery had 
been committed, and I was accused of being the thief. No matter whether 
I was innocent or not, the shame of it remains — I have been imprisoned for 
theft. The matron of the prison was the next person who took an iuteresr, 
in me. She reported favorably of my behavior to the authorities ; and 
when 1 had served my time she gave me a letter to the kind friend and 
guardian of my later years — to the lady who is coming here to take me 
back with her'to the Refuge. The matron on receiving me frankly acknowl- 
edged that there were terrible obstacles in my way. But she saw that I 
was sincere, and she felt a good woman's sympathy and compassion for 
me. After fir:=t earning my new character in the Refuge, I obtained a 
trial in a respectable house. I worked hard, and worked uncomplaining- 
ly ,: but my mother's fatal legacy was against me l>ora the first. My per- 
sonal appearance excited remark ; my manners and habits were not the. 
manners* and habits of the women among whom my lot was cast. T 
tried one place after another — always with the same result. Miss Roseber 
ry can tell you the story of those sad daj3, 1 confided it to her when we met 



S6 THE NEW MAGDALEN. 

in the French cottage ; I have no heart to repeat it now. More than onco 
I have walked, to one or other of the bridges, and looking over the parapet 
at the river, and said to myself, other women have done it; why shouldn't 
I? You saved me at that time, Mr. Gray — as you have saved me since. I 
was one of your congregation when you preached in the chapel of the Ref- 
uge. You reconciled others besides me to our hard pilgrimage. In their 
liame and in mine, sir, I thank you. I can never forget the evening the 
matron sent for me into her own room and said, "My dear, your life here is 
a wasted life. If you have courage left to try it, 1 can give you another 
chance." I passed through a month of probation in a London hospital - 
A week after that I wore the red cross of the Geneva Convention. When 
you first saw me Mr. Holmcroft, I was nurse in a French ambulance. You 
know how I entered this house. May you never know the tempta- 
tion that tried me when the shell struck its victim in the French cottage. 
There she lay — dead. Her name v/as untainted — her future promised me 
the reward which had been denied to the honest efforts of a penitent woman 
My lost place in the world was ofl'ered back to me on the one condition 
that I stooped to win it by fraud. Such was my position when the possibil- 
ity of personating Miss Roseberry first forced itself on my mind. Impul- 
eively, recklessly — wickedly, if you like — I seized the opportunity, and let 
you pass me through the German lines in Miss Roseberry's cloak and under 
her name. Arrived in England, having had time to reflect, I made my 
first and last effort to draw back before it was too late. I went to the Ref- 
uge, and stopped on the opposite side of the street, looking at it — the horror 
ofreturning to that life was more than I could force myself to endure. An 
empty cab passing a,t that moment, the driver held up his hand — in n\y 
despair I stopped him, and said, take me to Mablethorpe House. My con- 
fession is made. You are released from your promise to me — you are free. 
Thank Mr. Julian Gray if I stand here self-accused of the offense that I 
have committed, before the man whom I have wronged. 

{Mercy hides her face in her handkerchief 

Julian. She has told you to thank me, if her conscience has spoken. 
Thank the noble nature which answered when I called upon it. Her 
heart-felt repentance is a joy in heaycn. Shall it not plead for her on 
earth ? Honor her, if you are a Christian ! Feel for her, if you are a man ! 

{Horace does not move 

Mercy, {approaching Horace — sobs) .Before we part forever, will you 
take my hand as a token that you forgive me ? 

Horace, {half lifts his hand, then drops it by his side) I can't forgive her. 

{moves Jo wards h. h. 

Julian, Horace, I pity you. 

Mercy, {aside) Oh heaven ! have mercy on rae. 

{bows her head, sits in chair — exit, Horace, L. H. 

Julian. Rise, poor wounded heart. Beautiful, purified soul, God'3 
angels rejoice over you! Take your place among the noblest of God's 
creatures ! 

Mercy. Thank you, Mr. Gray. But I must depart. 

Julian, Where ? 

Mercy. Back to the Refuge. Back to my old life. Out into the cold 
and pitiless world, where no one cares for me, where no hand can place me 
within the pale of modern society, where nought is left but woe and sor- 
rov7 for the poor Magdalen, Mercy Merrick. 

Julian. Not so. Listen ! You have abandoned your marriage engage- 
ment ; you have forfeited Lady Janet's love; you have ruined all your 
Avordly prospects ; you are now returning, self -de voted, to a life which 
you hiive yourself described as a life without hope. Now tell me, is a wo- 
2nan who can make that sacrifice a woman who will prove unworthy of 
the trust if a man places in her keeping his honor and his name. {Mercy 
starts axcay from him roith clasped hands) Mercy, from the first moment 
when I saw you I loved you I You are free j I may own it; I may ask you 
to be my wifel ... - 



THE NEW MAGDALEN. 37 

Mercy. No ! no ! Think of what you are saying ! think of what you 
wonld sacrifice ! It cannot, must not be. 

Julian. You have enlightened me. I had forgotten that it doesn't fol- 
low, because I love you, that you should love me in return. Say that it is 
go, Mercy, and I leave you. 

Me.rcy. How can I say so? Where is 'the woman in ray place whoso 
heart could resist you ? {despalringhj) Am I fit to be your wile? Must I 
remind you of what you owe to your high position, your spotless integrity, 
your famous name? Think of all that you have done for me, and then 
think of the black ingratitude of it if I ruin you for life by consenting to 
our marriage — if I selfishly, cruelly, wickedly^ drag you down to the 
levcrl of a woman like me ! 

Julian. I raise you to my level when I make you my wife. Don't refer 
me to the world and its opinions. It rests with you, and you alone, to 
make the misery or the happiness of my life. The world I Wiiat can the 
world give me in exchange for you. 

Mercy. Oh, have pity on my weakness ! Kindest, best of men, help me 
to do my hard duty toward you ! It is so hard, after all that I have suffer- 
ed — when my heart is yearning for j^eace, happiness and love I Remember 
bow Mr. Holmcroft has used me I Remember how Lady Janet has left 
me! Remember what I have told you of my life! The scorn of every 
creature you know would strike at you frhrough me. No 1 no ! no ! Not a 
word more. Spare me I pity me ! leave me ! 

Julian. Mercy! My darling! We will go away — we will leave Eng- 
land — we will take refuge among new people, in a new world — I will 
change my name — I will break with relations, friends, everybody. Any- 
thing, anything, rather than lose you ! 

Mercy." {aside) Oh, Heavenly Father, my joy is too great, {aloud) Mr. 
Gray, a woman who has^,lived my life, a woman who has suffered what I 
have suffered, may love you — as 1 love you. But that place is high above 
her.. 

Julian, {clasping her in his arms) Come then to thy rest. Come to all 
the joys that I can give. And believe me when I say that the earth holdtJ 
no nobler soul than thine. Beautiful, purified, God's angels rejoice over 
you. Take your place among the noblest of God's creatures. 



CURTAIN. 



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Ames' Ouide to the Theatres ami Kails in Ohio.— The most 
complete guide ever published. It gives population of cities and towns, 
Beating on pacity of hall, size of stage, rent, and in fact every question is 
answered taat advance agents or managers wish to know. Price 75 centa 
by mail. 

— !— SHEET MUSIC. — !— 

That liittle Black Mustache.— Comic Song and chorus, by Jamea 
M. Dow. Very taking and a great success. Price 30 cents. 

Fajette Waltz.— For piano or organ, by Will R, Reynolds. Easy 
»nd very pretty. Price 25 cents. 

"Wait for the Turn ot the Tide.— As sung in Wilkins' Drama 
"The Turn of the Tide." Arranged as a quartette by Will R.Reynolds. 
Very suitable for exhibitions, as it is easy and at the same time very pleas- 
ing. Price 30 cents. 

Magucsium Tableau XJghts— Are first-class for the following 
reasons : They do not smoke; are always ready ; they will not explode • 
they are easily ignited; are wonderfully brilliant, Jsurning with an in- 
tensity of 74 stearine caudles ; are perfectly safe under all circumstances. 
They can easily and safely be sent lo any part of the United States. One 
of these magnesium lights will be amply sufficient for two tableaux, unlesa 
they are unusually long. We will send them by mail for tweuty-five 
cents each, and prepay all charges. 

i:.ig;htnins: for Private Theatricals.— Very many dramas con- 
tain storms, which unless given in an artistic manner are more laughable 
than otherwise. To make them successful good lightning is essential. 
We will send a package of material for this purpose, with full printed 
directions for its use, to any address, for 50 cents. The effect produced by 
it will be found all that can be desired. 

India Inh.— For blackening the eyebrows, whiskers, mustache, or for 

any use where black is needed. Per stick 15 cents. 

Prepared Brown.- For causing a sun-burned appearance. Pric« 
per box 25 cents. 

Spirit Powder.— For fastening whiskers or mustache to the face. 
Will adhere very strongly in the hottest weather. Price per packaga 
25 cents. 

Carmine.— For the face. Very brilliant. Per package 25 cents. 

Prepared Vermilion.— For the face. A beautiful color. Per box 
2$ cents. 
Oning Brushes.— The best quality. Price, each 15 cents. 
Th^ above are all of the best quality, and put up expressly for our 
Ir&de. They caa be seat b/ mail to any one on receipt of the price. 

AddresS; 

▲• ]>. AilI£S, Publisher, 
Clyde, Ohio. 



■3. 

owa 



I RECENTLY PUBLISHED. 

S An entirely new and original Nautical and Temperance Drama, by t^ie A^ 
•^ atcur's favorite author, W. Henri Wilkins, entitled 

3 THE TURN OF THE TIDE, 

3 OR 

I WRECKED IN PORT. 

ft ■ ■4 " 

M There is no doubt but Mr. "Wilkins is at this time the most popular write? 
^ of plays for Amateur Dramatic Companies in the United States, if not in the 
^ world. He is the author of Rock Allen the Orphan, Three Glasses a Day, 
.o The Keward of Crime, Mother's Fool, The Coming Man, etc., all of whi<5b 
§ have been produced by nearly all amateur companies in the United States 
d and Canada. We take much pleasure in presenting now his latest and best 
^ drama as above, knowing that it will invariably suit all who purchase it.. 
^The characters embrace an old man, 1st. and 2d leading men, villain, two 
^ ruflfians, and a 'nigger' who is very funny. Those who have produced 'Out 
^ in the Streets' will find 'Pepper' in this play, fully as funny as 'Pete* in 
a that. Female characters are a fault-finding old woman, leading, juvenile, 
3 and a splendid comedy. The plot is simple, and yet very effective. The 
i3 serious portions are balanced by the comedy ones, indeed it is the drama 
S Amateurs want. See synopsis below. Price 15c each. Send one cent post- 
F age stamps if possible, or 28 and 38. ;, 

s 

S SYNOPSIS OF EVENTS. 

53 Act First. — The fisherman's home — reminiscences of the wreck. The gath- 
§ ering storm — Reference to the money — Entrance of the Pirate — Aunt Becky 
o* expresses her opinion of him — Pepper tells his story — The sunset gun — The 
2 storm breaks — Susie's secret — Pepper struck by lightning — A signal of dis- 
til tress on the water — Clyde's proposal — "I have the power" — Lillian's secret 
-- — "Why can't I die 1 He has forfeited all claims to honor or respect, and 

1 hopelessly cast me off, yet notwithstanding all this, I love him."— Entrance 
a of Clyde, "You here ! Begone and let your lips be sealed, or I'll cut out your 
§* quivering heart and throw it to the fishes who sport in yonder deep"— 
^ Clyde's soliloquy "Ah, Capt. St. Morris, a fig for your gilded castles built 
S on air." — The pirates rob the house. 

^ Act Second,— Frisky's communings — She and Pepper have a little falling 
S out — Pepper's pursuit of knowledge under the table — Clyde shows his colors 

2 and plays his first card, "Then my answer must be 'yes,* though it break the 
5 heart of my child." — The old man tries to drown his sorrow — Pepper goes 
P^ for clams — Entrance of Lillian, "Yes, pirate though you are, and chieftain 
2 of the hunted crew, I love you still I The time will come when you will find 
^ I am the truest friend you ever had." — Aunt Becky relieves herself of a few 
g ideas and Pepper gives her a few more — The old fisherman falls a victim to 
% Intemperance, and Aunt Becky expresses her opinion of "sich doins.'* — The 
M meeting of Clyde and St. Morris — The combat — Death of Clyde, "Oh, Hea- 
^ ven 1 I am his wife." — Tableau. 

^ Act Third. — One year later — Company espected— Pepper has a "werry 
curis" dream — Capt. St. Morris relates a story to Susie — Love-making inter- 
^ rupted by the old fisherman — His resolution to reform — Aunt Becky thinks 
^ she is 'slurred.' — Lilliancomraunea with her own thoughts — The Colonel ar* 
i3 rives — Pepper takes him in charge and relates a wonderful whaling story— 
*| Restoration of the stolen money — "The same face. Heavens ! I cannSt ba 
g mistaken." "It's all out."— The Colonel finds a daughter— Ho tolls the 
^ story of his escape from the wreck — Old friends meet — The Colonel's propo- 
sal and acceptance, "Bress de Lawd." — Happj" ending, with song and 
chorus.— '"Wi.IT Fob The Turn Op The Tide." 



AMES' PLAYS-COIfTrNTrED. 



NO. M. F. 

46 Man and "Wife, drama, 5 acts, by H. A. Webber 12 7 

91 Michael Erie, drama, 2 acts, by E^rton Wilks 8 3 

36 Miller of Derwent Water, drama, 3 acts, by E. Fitzbali 5 2 

88 Mischievous Nigger, ethiopean farce, 1 act, by C. White. ..4 2 

84 Mistletoe Bough, melo-drama, 2 acts, by C. Somerset 7 3 

69 Mother's Fool, farce, 1 act, by W. Henri Wilkins 6 1 

1 Mr. & Mrs. Pringle, farce, 1 act, by Don T. De Treuba Co8io..7 2 

23 My Heart's in the Highlands, farce, 1 act, 4 3 

32 My Wife's Relations, comedietta, 1 act, by Walter Gordon. ..4 4 
90 No Cure No Pay, ethiopean farce, 1 act, by G. W. H. Griffin..3 1 

61 Not as Deaf as He Seems, ethiopean farce, 1 act, 2 

37 Not so Bad After All, comedy, 3 acts, by Wybert Reeve 6 5 

44 Obedience, comedietta, 1 act, by Hattie L. Lambla 1 2 

81 Old Phil's Birthday, drama, 2 acts, by J. P. Wooler 5 2 

33 On the Sly, farce, 1 act, by John Madison Morton 3 2 

109 Other People's Children, etho farce, 1 act, by A. N. Field 3 2 

85 Outcast's Wife, drama, 3 acts, by Colin H. Hnzlewood 12 3 

83 Out on the World, drama, 3 acts, 5 4 

53 Out in the Streets, temp drama, 3 acts, by S. N. Cook 6 4 

57 Paddy Miles' Boy, irish farce, 1 act, by James Pilgrim 5 2 

29 Painter of Ghent, play, 1 act, by Douglass Jerrold 5 2 

114 Passions, comedy, 4 acts, by F. Marmaduke Dey 8 4 

18 Poacher's Doom, domestic drama, 3 acts, by A. D. Ames 8 3 

51 Rescued, temperance drama, 2 acts, by C. II. Gilbert 5 3 

110 Reverses, domestic drama, 5 acts, by A. Newton Field 12 6 

45 Rock Allen the Orphan, drama, 1 act, by W. Henri Wilkins.. 5 3 

96 Rooms to Let without Board, ethiopean farce, 1 act, 2 1 

59 Saved, temperance sketch, 1 act, by Edwin Tardy 2 3 

48 Schnaps, dutch farce, 1 act, Uy M. A. D. Cliffton 1 1 

107 School, ethiopean farce, 1 act, by A. Newton Field ..5 

115 S. H. A. M. Pinafore, burl'sq, 1 act, by W. Henri Wilkins... 5 S 

55 Somebody's Nobody, farce, 1 act, by C. A. Maltby 3 2 

94 Sixteen Thousand Years Ago, ethiopean farce, 1 act, 3 

25 Sport with a Sportsman, ethiopean farce, 1 act, 2 

79 Spy of Atlanta, military allegory, 6 acts, by A. D. Ames. ..14 3 

92 Stage Struck Darkey, ethiopean farce, 1 act, 2 1 

10 Stocks Up, Stocks Down, ethiopean farce, 1 act, 2 

62 Ten Nights in a Bar Room, temperance drama, 5 acts, 7 3 

64 That Boy Sam, etho farce, 1 act, by F. L. Cutler 3 1 

40 That Mysterious Bundle, farce, 1 act, by H. L. Lambla 2 2 

38 The Bewitched Closet, sketch, 1 act, by H. L. Lambla 5 % 

87 The Biter Bit, comedy, 2 acts, by Barham Livius 5 2 

101 The Coming Man, farce, 1 act, by W. Henri Wilkins 3 1 

67 The False Friend, drama, 2 act, by Geo. S. Vautrot 6 1 

97 The Fatal Blow, melo-drama, 2 acts, by Edward Ficzball...7 1 

93 The Gentleman in Black, drama, 2 act, W. H. Murry 9 4 

112 The New Magdalen, drama, pro 3 acts, by A.Newton Field. ..8 3 

71 The Reward of Crime, drama, 2 acts, by W. Henri Wilkins..5 3 

16 The Serf, tragedy, 5 acts, by K. Talbot 6 3 

68 The Sham Professor, farce, 1 act, by F. L. Cutler 4 

6 The Studio, ethiopean farce, 1 act, 3 

102 Turn of the Tide, temp drama, 3 acts, by W. Henri Wilkins. ..7 4 
54 The Two T. J's, farce, 1 act, by Martin Beecher 4 2 

Catalogue continued on last page of cover. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



KO. 

7 

28 

lis 

fi3 

105 

4 

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56 

41 

70 

58 

111 




AMES' PLAYS,-C< 



TheVowof the OrnflTii,drama, 3ftc 016 103 782 5 

Thirty-three next Birthday, lurce, ^ avi, k,j -.-. ^. 

Those Awful Boys, etho farce, 1 act, by A. Newton Field 5 

ThreeGlaspesa Day, tern dra, 2act8, by W. Henri Wilkins...4 

Tliroutj^h Snow and Sunshine, drama, 5 acts, 6 

Twain's Dodgins:, etho farce, 1 act, by A. Newton Field 3 

"NViien Wotuen Weep, com'd'ta, 1 act, by J. N.Gotthold 3 

AVooing Under Difficulties, farce, 1 act, by J. T. Douglass. ..4 

Won at Last, comedy drama, 3 acta, by Wybert Reeve 7 3 

Which will he Marry, farce, 1 act, by Thoa. E. Wilks ^2 8 

Wrecked, temperance drama, 2 acts, by A. D. Ames 9 3 

Yankee Duelist, farce, 1 act, by A. Newton Field 2 2 



PLEASE READ CAREFULLY. 

When remittinp^, send Post Office Order if possible, otherwise send 
a Registered Letter, or Draft on New York. Small amounts may be 
sent in 1, 2, or 3 cent postage stamps with hut little risk. 

Do not waste your own, and our time by asking us if we can send 
you a certain play, but enclose your money, 15 cents per copy. If 
it is published, we will send it, otherwise we will notify you, and 
you can instruct us to send something else, or return the money. 

Please notice that we will not fill telegraph orders, and will not 
send goods to any one C. 0. D. 

Our books may be ordered from any bookseller in the United 
Stafos and Canada. If you have trouble however, in getting Ames' 
Edition, send directly to us. 

Amateur companies often have trouble in procuring Plays suited 
to their wants, ordering perhaps five dollars' worth before anything 
suitable can be found. This can be avoided. Our list embraces Plays 
suitable for all companies, and if our friends will write to us, stating 
their requirements, we can suit them. Enclose 15 cents per copy 
for as many sample copies as you wish, and a list of those you have 
produced. State also the kind of Play desired, number of charac- 
ters, etc. We will select and send samples by return mail. 

We do not make any discount on a number of copies of books, 
neither will we send Plays out to be returned if not suitable. 

A complete Descriptive Catalogue will be sent free to any one on 
applicfttion. Send a postal card with your address. 

A. D. AMES, Pub., Clyde, Ohio. 



I 



m5mZ.?.L CONGRESS 



016 103 782 5 



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